


A Day In The Life

by WhyAreYouRunning



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blood, Blood and Gore, Comedy, Dark, Drinking, F/M, Ghost but he's an English chap, Guns, Hospitals, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Mystery, Peace Corps, Quirrel Needs a Hug (Hollow Knight), Romance, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyAreYouRunning/pseuds/WhyAreYouRunning
Summary: Hornet figured the end of the Radiance would bring lasting peace to the kingdom. turns out it actually brings;Social anarchyCivil WarEnlightenmentPoliticsAlcoholismAnd strangest of all, love.
Relationships: Hornet/Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 96





	1. In (Relatively) Good Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Fixed up spelling and tweaked some dialogue to make the story more cohesive.

He looked once more to the clock, 7:30. The sun was just diming, shimmering out as it approached the horizon.

 _Hmmm…_ The bug thought to himself, _he’s been out longer than usual_.

 _That’s good I suppose,_ taking another sip of his drink, _maybe he finally smartened up…_

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. _Tap tap tap_ , they never knocked too loudly.

“Who is it?” He yelled back at the door, still sitting at the small desk. He knew perfectly well who it was, it just seemed impolite to not ask.

“Our great warrior has returned!’ Chirped a voice, obviously farther away then those at the door, followed by a huff from a second person.

 _Of course he is._ He rolled his eyes and stood up. He took a second to balance himself out before heading to the door. Opening the door and leaned against it, in no real hurry. In front of him was, surprisingly, Iselda. Right next to her was Tiso, one arm wrapped around Iselda’s shoulders the other hanging loosely from his side. He was covered in cuts and bruises in varying degrees of severity.

However, instead of addressing the injured bug, he looked to the madam Tiso was leaning on. “Ah, Iselda, always a pleasure. I didn’t expect to see you here. So, is the town taking turns now or...”

Tiso, quite angry from being ignored, yelled something about him dying, neither of them paid it much mind. “Well it would seem that the Vessels are off somewhere, Hornet won’t do it, the Elderbug is, well, too old, Lemm is god knows where and yada yada.” She said, waving her hand in an exaggerated fashion. “Regardless, I have cleanup duty.”

Just a little ways off behind them sat another bug who seemed to be lost in thought until she was called on. “Bretta, what are you doing here?” She snapped back to reality and looked to the group in front of the house. “Oh, me, I was… I-I-I-I-I-. Moral Support!” She squeaked out. Hair face turning a bright red.

“Moral support?” The pill bug standing at the door began, still ignoring the protests of the warrior. “Okay… So why are you doing it all the way over there?”

“Oh, uhhhh… Blood makes me queasy…” She responded, almost too quiet to hear.

“Will someone please help, I’m literally going to die.” Tiso interjected, though this time it would seem the other bug actually acknowledged it.

“No, I don’t think we’ll be so lucky. Bring him inside.” He gestured with his head to move. Once they had entered the abode he went to close the door before turning back to Bretta, “Hey, do you want to come in and see your ‘brave warrior’? I can make some tea.”

“No, n-no I think I’ll… I’ll just… Wait here, thanks!” She said, making a conscious effort to not move any closer.

“Well, alright then, see you around I suppose.” She didn’t respond, instead, she returned to her fantasies. He wasn’t entirely sure how to end a conversation with her, she was only ever half present for most of one. Some other part of her was always somewhere else, daydreaming. It was a talent.

Entering his abode Tiso sat on his table. The table already had a white, stained blanket over it. Although it would seem it has been thoroughly washed, faded blots of red dotted the surface.

What was originally supposed to be a study but had turned into a dining/medical/equipment room, not really his choice. Just across the way from the table, in the right-hand corner. No more than a few meters or so was his wooden slanted desk for writing up plans and the sort. On the wall next to it sat a series of various cabinets, each with a set of glass windows to see inside. The left side of the cabinets was composed of mostly food and drinks while the other side was dedicated to various tools and instruments. Ranging from levels and cartography tools to medical equipment.

It should be noted the house was not that tall, though it was longer than most. The room in question was rather small and cozy with a hallway going down to two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. All in their own respected rooms connected to the main hallway He had meant to convert one of the bedrooms back to a proper dining room but he just, never did.

 _Not that I’ll have the time at this rate_ , he thought, walking to the bathroom and cleaning his hands. “Hey Iselda!’ He shouted down the hallway, getting a short _Hmmm?_ In response. “What say I put the kettle on, make some tea?”

“Yeah, tea sounds nice, though…” Sticking his head out of the bathroom he looked to Iselda who was clearly eyeing his cabinet full of liquor. “Ha, even better, hold on a second.” He said down the hallway to a surprised, and slightly embarrassed Iselda. And to a dying bug as well, he supposed. He quickly dried his hands and came back out into the main room. He went over to the cabinet, to the far right first to grab some gauze that was nestled in a sliding drawer right below various sewing needles.

Next, he walked over to the middle of the conglomerate of cabinets. There stood a whole case of various liquids. “Oh, this is it, I’m gonna die. Quick throw me into a ditch, it would be a more honorable death than croaking in his house.” Tiso moaned to Iselda, who was sitting just behind him at the wooden table.

“Oh quiet you, well have you trying to get yourself killed again in no time. He responded.

“You know Quirrel, you’re a lot ruder today then usual, what’s your deal.”

“That’s because Ghost isn’t around today, so I can be as rude as I please.” Quirrel said, still scanning the cabinet.

He took out a clear looking bottle with an even clearer looking liquid in it. “Well, this is either isopropyl alcohol or vodka.” He said, he took off the cap and sniffed it. “Eh, it’ll work.” He shrugged. He grabbed an empty glass with it and walked back over to Tiso.

He put the glass down on the opposite side of Tiso’s wound and poured a small bit in before pushing it to Iselda, who gestured forward a small thanks. Finally, Quirrel turned his attention to the wound. “Ooh, damn, that’s a proper cut you got there.” He said, eyeing the cut that was currently staining his white blanket.

He pressed some gauze to the lip of the bottle and splashed some alcohol on it before pressing it to the rather large gash on Tiso’s right side.

“Well gee, thanks for noticing.” Tiso said sarcastically under his breath, wincing at the stinging sensation.

Quirrel took the rest of the gauze and wrapped it around his waist a few times. When he had finished he snipped the end and placed a clip through the fabric to keep it in place. The gauze that was over the wound quickly became saturated with blood, far quicker then he had anticipated. The bandage began to ooze the same red liquid.

“Hu… That… That does not look good.” Quirrel said rather slowly, as he leaned down and stared at bloodied gauze. Iselda was also staring at the cut, scrunching up her face and making an _Ooo…_ sound. This all did not go unnoticed by Tiso.

“Wait, wait what are you all talking about?” He said, doing his best to look down at his wound, which was harder to do then one might think with a dislocated arm. “Okay, alright what are we going to do about it.” There was a hint of panic in his voice.

“We’re gonna need to stitch that up.” Quirrel said, standing back up and moving up to inspect Tiso’s arm. This flabbergasted the poor bug.

“Well?” Tiso said, looking back up at Quirrel, “aren’t you going to stitch it up!?” Tiso half yelled, still distressed from the fact he may be actually bleeding out.

“Well, I’m not going to.”

‘What! Why?”

“Look I can do a variety of different…” Quirrel paused for a second. “’Medical things’. It just so happens sewing isn’t one of them, at least not very well… Or at least not in this state. But…” He turned and headed towards the sewing drawer. “If you really want I can get up in there.” He fumbled around in the drawer for a second before taking out a needle and thread. “There we are,” as he started walking back over to the now panicking bug.

“Oh, hold on a second.” Quirrel said, going back over to his desk where he had left his drink. A small round glass with a sort of amber liquid in it. He took the glass and drank the rest of its contents in one gulp.

Quirrel’s face scrunched up at the taste before slamming the glass back down.

“Now we’re ready to go.” Once more returning to Tiso, trying to thread the needle all the while.

The string finally went through the tiny hole. “Ha! Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I haven’t taken the Hippocratic oath.”

“No, NO WAIT!” Yelled Tiso, putting up his one good hand to protect himself. “You made your point. So if you won’t do it, then…” Tiso looked back at Iselda, who was presently sipping her drink. “Don’t look at me, I’m not going to do it.”

“Then who will? I can’t die like this!” He moaned. That is until his mind pieced together what Quirrel was planning, but before he could properly stop him Quirrel was already a step ahead of him.

“Iselda, do me a favor, go and get Hornet would you?”

She looked over at Tiso, then down at her drink and sighed. “Fine,” she downed the rest of her glass in one fell swoop. “We’d better hope she’s actually in, and that she’ll actually help us.” She said, standing up from the table and heading towards the door.

“Yeah, it’d give it a 50-50 depending on the day…” He paused for a second. “And the month.” Quirrel said, all of which helped Tiso very little.

“Be back in a second.” And with that Iselda exited the building.

* * *

Outside his home was the small town of Dirtmouth. Though bigger then it was a month or so ago, right after the infection. At that time the town only consisted of three or four houses, now they had a dozen or so houses, and more to be expected in the future. All the houses were pretty much the same, save for Quirrel’s which was derived from Byzantine architecture which immediately drove Quirrel to it. The house had a big round dome over the main section, the ‘infirmary’ as the inhabitants called it even if he hated it. It didn’t serve any real purpose other than to make the house stick out. The rest was made of rock, carved out with lumps going across the surface.

Most of the houses were abandoned, so for bugs moving in it’s as easy as finding an abandoned building and moving in. And as a plus with the collapse of civilization, you didn’t have to pay property tax.

As Iselda started out the door she was greeted by Bretta who had been sitting on the bench just outside.

“Is-is he going to be alright? I heard yelling.” Bretta asked, shivering a bit at the thought of her brave night in pain.

“Yes, yes he’ll be fine.” Iselda responded waving her hand in dismissal, “probably” she finished under her breath. This cheered the beetle up, blissfully unaware of the events that had transpired.

The two began to walk over to the opposite house, Bretta only following by the leading conversation.

“I really don’t know what you see in that bug.” Iselda started

“What do you mean? It’s my destiny to find a strong knight and fall in love with him!”

“So I’ve heard. It’s just I don’t think Tiso fits, well, any of those criteria.”

Bretta took some offense to that, “That doesn’t matter! He’s a great knight in my heart, I can feel it. You know, you might see that if you all were a bit nicer to him.” Bretta said to a rather surprised Iselda. Bretta wasn’t one to talk back or defend her ideals.

“Yes, well, maybe if he didn’t come back here weekly to seep away are supplies and our time. I mean what is it, his 5th time here? 6th? I’m just saying he’s very arrogant and it’ll get him killed one day of these days.” She stopped for a second, they had long since reached the Vessel’s abode. “Oh, I almost forgot he’s bleeding to death.” She quickly turned to the door and knocked three times.

“He’s what!?” was all Bretta could get out before the door opened

A pale, two-horned bug in a red gown stood before them, though her stance was neutral her demeanor always yelled danger.

“Oh, hello Hornet, lovely day isn’t it?” Iselda started, even though she had walked over with the correct conversation in her head she still managed to slip it up.

“What do you want?” Horne asked in her usual, dismissive manner.

“We need your help in the infirmary, Tiso is hurt again and we need someone to sew up his wound.” Iselda said, finally getting back in script.

“And why should I do that?.” Hornet responded. She wasn’t a mean bug per se, independent was the better word. She wasn’t one to help but she never expected it in return.

 _Hmmm, that is a good question_ , Iselda thought. Not that she wasn’t expecting the question, but coming to it head-on was still a problem. To any other ordinary bug, a probable _because ‘they will die if you don’t’_ would be enough but Hornet was no ordinary bug.

“Well, I uhhh… Quirrel could use the help....” Iselda was going to continue rambling but before she could Hornet stepped back behind the door for a second, deliberating, before turning back to Iselda.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” And with that Hornet walked passed Iselda and Bretta, who was standing a good distance back, away from both Hornet and her house.

Iselda wasn’t entirely sure what had convinced her to help, maybe it was a spur of the moment thing, maybe Hornet was just bored.

As the duo, and Bretta who walked few meters behind them, walked up to Quirrel’s door they paused when they heard a loud _AAAAAahh, FUCK!_ Come from inside.

“Ah! My poor night! Why must he suffer so…” Bretta didn’t get to finish her speech as Hornet gave her a stern glare, which quickly shut her up.

Hornet swiftly opened the door and entered the room.

Inside Tiso was now laying down on the table, his left leg was now in a cast and he was clenching his right arm in pain.

“Oh don’t be such a baby Mr mighty warrior, this is what the third time I’ve had to do this.” Quirrel said. He had a clipboard in his hand, he seemed to be jotting down notes or perhaps just records. Quirrel always liked recording things.

“That doesn’t make it any less painful! Jeez, I feel like my arm’s going to snap off…” Tiso retorted.

“You should be grateful it hasn’t yet. Honestly, it’s a bloody miracle your muscles haven’t snapped. Or the fact that you’ve fallen down that gulch, what, six times now and your spine is still intact. That is, though not impossible, scientifically improbable.” Quirrel said, still not looking up from his notes.

“It’s because I’m the strongest!” Tiso declared, this was not the right thing to say at that moment as Quirrel starred up from his clipboard.

“No, it’s because you’re an idiot, do you ever think of what this is doing to your body? How many years off your life this takes off every time we have to fix a muscle or put a bone back into place? Every time you twist and bruise you back, every gash and cut. You’ve gotten off lucky the last few times. What do you think will happen when they hit something vital? Or even just cause some internal bleeding? There’d be no saving you then. Do you really want to die that badly? Fine then, throw your life away. Die in the colosseum, see if I care.” Quirrel said, a deafening silence filled the air soon after.

Quirrel wasn’t one to lash out or hope for someone's demise. It just wasn’t in his nature, or at least as far as everyone else had seen.

He turned to see the Hornet and Iselda and immediately his demeanor changed. His pleasant nature foiled out, “Hornet! Great, I assume you were filled in on the way here?” He looked down at Tiso who had also had a change in his attitude, now looking down at the floor rather than anyone. He gave Tiso a sort of shove and gestured at the two. “Oi, we have a visitor, don’t be rude, say hello.” Before turning back to his clipboard. “Hey… Hornet.” Tiso said, weakly.

“Indeed, where is the cut?” Always straight to the point, unlike the others that seemed to revel in faffing about with their least favorite pa Hornet was always focused on the goal.

Soon enough they had the wound unwrapped, cleaned, and stitched with little to no input from Tiso. Not even a peep.

“There we are. I’d say all better but, you’re not. In fact, I want you to stay here tonight, so I can keep an eye on your wound, make sure it doesn't re-open.” Tiso sat up and nodded slowly before limping his way over to the guest room.

“Do you suppose we got to him this time?” Quirrel said looking back at his colleagues.

“Doubt it, but then we can’t really say till tomorrow.” Said Iselda, having retaken her spot on the table. “You want me to move the blanket out?” Moving her attention to the cloth covering the table, which was now quite saturated in a dark red, holding up one side of it.

Quirrel looked at the blanket and at his own hand which was dotted with blood as well. “No, no that’s alright. I’m surrounded by the stuff. I could bathe in the stuff and feel about as home as I’ll ever be.” He didn’t look up from his hand immediately. “That came out wrong.”

“Pfff, I’ll say.” Iselda said as she poured another glass. “The City of Tears still that bad?”

“Yeah, well…” He started, taking the bottle and grabbing his glass from his desk and poured. “The city has calmed down recently, it’s more quiet out there then it’s been since the end of the plague but…” He stops to take a sip of his drink. “There are still a few little skirmishes going down, almost daily.” He went back over to the table and leaned on one of its edges. “I should be down there right now, there’s always someone who needs bandaging or bodies that need identification.”

“Mmm… Suppose someday they’ll smarten up one day and start working together again?”

“Yeah, maybe when one of them finally comes out on top, but there will always be dissidence and rebellion. No matter who wins.”

“Who would you have win?’ Hornet asked, this surprised the pair, Hornet was not one to take an interest in other bugs affairs. Again she didn’t do it out of spite or out of ego it’s more of an upbringing problem.

Quirrel blinked for a second, processing what she had asked. “Well, that’s not really for me to choose. I’m simply there to help out who I can, regardless of ideology.”

He stared down at his drink, reminiscing perhaps. Hornet looked as if she was about to say something important but before she could Quirrel’s face lit up in realization and looked up at Hornet. “Oh, excuse me, can I offer you a drink.” And like that Quirrel went back to his charismatic self.

Iselda sat, silent, witnessing a miracle in the making. She could only think of one answer that could come out of that bug.

Hornet began to put her hand up in a ‘no thanks’ gesture but stopped half-way and thought for a second as she looked at Quirrel.

She let out a sigh, “Fine, why not.” She sat down opposite Iselda who had a look of pure shock on her face.

Quirrel’s face lit up in a big smile, of which no one had seen for quite some time. “Perfect!” He almost yelled out. “This is a special occasion, let’s bring out the good stuff.” He put the cap back on the vodka and brought it back over to the cabinet. “Ehhh… Let’s see. Scottish whiskey? No, too thick. Sicilian Wine? Not strong enough, Peruvian Cachaca? No, but close, ah here.” He said, grabbing another jug of clear liquid and began to inspect it.

“Tequila, if you travel far enough west, or east from where we are technically, you may find the lands of the Aztec. Very rare to find down here. Found it in some old dead guy's mansion in a small vault.” He walked back over to the table with the liquor and an extra glass.

“Robbing the dead for drinks, for shame.” Iselda said, in a sarcastic manner

“It doesn’t do the dead any good to hold onto, there supposed to give up all worldly possessions before passing on, I’m doing them a favor.” Quirrel retorted in much the same manner, sitting down at the table and taking her glass. He poured out 3 glasses and distributed them.

“You know, that’s how you get ghosts and such.” Iselda responded, taking her glass.

“Well then, I suppose we should finish this quick before the corpse gets wise.” Quirrel said, chuckling as did Iselda. Hornet did not. But to the party's surprise she did begin to string up into conversation.

“You know, Quirrel, I never took as such a…” She paused for a second, inspecting her own glass, trying to find the correct word. “Connoisseur of liquor.”

“You mean alcoholic.”

“You said it, not me.” This caused quite the chuckle from Iselda.

“Yeah, well I used to just collect them, some from my travels, others from the shops. Thing is you can read all the books and see all the pictures and that will give you a sense of a culture. But with this, you can taste it. The collecting is old, the drinking is new…” He paused to down his drink, the other two following suit. Hornet tried to hide her displeasure in the taste. “It’s just about the only thing that keeps me sane these days.” He gave a small chuckle of his own bemusement. “It’s just hard sometimes, juggling this sort of…” He stopped himself there, he had almost said something he didn’t want to be heard, it was rather apparent.

“I’ll say…” Iselda broke the silence. “You always seem so haggard these days, it’s nice to see you chipper again.”

“Yes, well, it’s not easy down there. And everything’s moving so fast these days, some days I worry I’ll be left behind.” Quirrel responded, pouring himself and the group another round.

They talked and drank for a while, chatting about this and that. At around 10, he’s pretty sure it was 10. It was kind of blurry, it was about time to end the session.

“Uhh, salright I need to get go, home, any longer and I’ll… I’ll…” Iselda slurred, making almost a full sentence. She stood up and wobbled a bit, gravity crashing down on her, but she caught her balance on the table's edge. “Oh wai, Quirrel did Cornifer get home tonight? Or is…”

“No, he had to stay…” Quirrel gestured with his thumb behind him. “He had to go, stay, and finish the… The building thing.”

Iselda made a _ppppww_ sound with her mouth. “Damn, guess I’ll just half ta actually go to sleep.” She made her way up to the door and opened it. “Alright Quirrel, I’ll see you around, oh and Hornet to.” And with that she left.

“He, yeah, I should be gettin’ ta bed mys… Me.” And he gestured down the hallway.

“You know, Quirrel, I worry about you sometimes.” Hornet said, slurred though a little not nearly as much as Quirrel.

This caught Quirrel off guard, so much so it seemed to sober him up a little. Because even in his inebriated state it was a generally understood rule that Hornet cares for no one, except maybe her brothers but they were exceptions. It took him a moment to respond.

“Oh, uhhh… Thanks.” He responded, still processing the statement. Until he finally found the right word.

“Why?” He asked

“You’ve changed, since Ghost defeated the Radiance.”

“We’ve all changed in a way, we sort of formed a community, change is inevitable.”

“Yes, well, I suppose change is the wrong word to use. You seem to flip flop between the Quirrel who came to Hollownest and someone else. You always seem so downtrodden these days.”

This quieted the scholar, as if he were contemplating what she had said.

She was expecting a lot of reactions, what she wasn’t expecting was for him to chuckle.

“Well, I’d say you hit it directly on the head.” He looked away from Hornet and instead stared down at his hands on the table.

“Hornet? I gotta ask, if one day you learned you weren’t the person you thought you were…” He paused.

“And what would you didn’t like that person, what if you couldn’t stand what that person had done, could do?” If Quirrel had more sense and less drink in him he would have been able to articulate his problem better, but it seemed Hornet understood.

“It feels like I’m fighting myself, all the time, day in and out. Every day I have to go down to that… That city and remember all the terrible things but through the lens of two people. I see people I recognize, but not really. It’s enough to drive me mad.”

Hornet, listened intently, and suddenly she had to stop herself. She had reached out a hand, perhaps to put on Quirrel’s shoulder for comfort. She put it back down before he could see.

When he did look back he was met with something he had never seen before and thought he never would. Hornet looked worried, well as worried as the stoic bug could look.

It had looked like Quirrel was leading to something important but this new bought of information seemed to change his current.

“Ah, look at me ramble on about myself I could go on for days. Don’t worry about me I’ve just been…” He said, trying to find the right words for comfort. “Overworked, when everything calms down in Hollownest I’ll be back to my normal self. I promise.” And he gave her a smile. Hornet felt a sort of heat flair up at that, though that could just be the alcohol.

“Anyway I’ll be heading to bed then, I assume you can make it home alright.” He said, standing up and steadying himself on the table before heading down the hallway.

“Hey, this was fun, we should really do this again sometime.” He said before entering his room and closing the door. He had probably meant to say goodbye but the bug needed sleep.

Hornet did make it home, only almost tripping twice, oop, three times. She opened the door slowly and closed it just as such. Making sure not to wake any of her siblings that may or may not be in the building. If they caught her in this state she’d never hear the end of it.

She finally made it to her room. In any other case she would have had to deal with some tough questions like, _why do you care what Quirrel does or how he acts? Why did you accept the drink? Why did you even go over in the first place?_ All of which eluded her as she plopped into bed, sleep overtaking her in an instant.


	2. Existential Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is changing, and not all for the better as Hornet searches for a new purpose. She may just be in luck as she joins company in the City of Tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: Fixed up some spelling mistakes and revised some parts to better fit the plot hooks I made after this.
> 
> Also re-reading this, this chapter is kind of a mess, it gets better later on (hopefully) just bare with me through this

Hornet awoke the next morning face down in her pillow with only a minor headache, which all things considered, was fairly lucky. She found a glass of water by her bed and concurrently downed it in a few big gulps. It hadn’t occurred to her who put it out for her and she didn’t have the time to deliberate.

The sun had risen just above the horizon, it would seem she was late for work. Walking out into the dining room, the room that connected the house to the outside, with only a door and a nice round window overhead the kitchen area that covered the right hand side of the room.

On that same side was the dining table. It was quite long, being able to seat as many as 12 guests at a time though only a max of 3 were ever in use. The house itself wasn’t big, but it was tall. Save for two of the bedrooms, the rest of the rooms stretched upwards making the whole house feel like an expensive art piece rather than a homestead.

As she walked in she saw some cooked meat waiting for her on the table, though it had been cooling for a while it was still warm and it wafted upwards. Upon making contact with Hornet she came to the realisation that she was starving. She quickly ate up her breakfast and exited the house into the never busy street of Dirtmouth.

She found her way to the well and hopped down, it was going to be a long patrol.

Even after the collapse of civilization someone needed to be the protector of this place, it’s what she had been doing for… Well, since the collapse. She didn’t very well know what else she could do.

But change was in the air. Hollownest didn’t need a protector anymore. Even if dysfunctional, civilization had managed to seep through the cracks. The city of tears, Kingdom's edge and it’s surrounding provinces, deepnest and the fungal wastes all had their own functioning governments and were now the protectors of their own lands.

Making her obsolete.

She didn’t like to think about it, and the headache didn’t help much either.

She did her rounds in the Forgotten Crossroads and Greenpass, Queen’s Garden, then Fog Canion, and then… Hmmm…

She had only been at this for about 3 hours now and it seemed she had hit all the borders of the former Kingdom of Hollownest. Before it would take her a whole day to explore the many provinces, even with her needle and string. Now she didn’t know what to do with herself.

This was actually a common occurrence these days as she once more sat in Fog Canion, on the edge of a steep drop, the bubbling Ulmas floating past above.

She had to do something. She couldn’t keep going on like this. It just seemed so useless. But she had been doing this for so long now she didn’t really know how to do anything else.

She sat there for sometime. Watching the glowing jellyfish before standing up and making her way towards the City of Tears. It was time to find a new purpose.

It had only been around 2 months since she had last seen the raining city and much to her surprise the city had changed, though, not in the ways she had anticipated. Many of the rooftops had, over the course of the infection, caved in. Without proper care the city falls apart as the water seeps into every crack and erodes the infrastructure. The city’s skyline was now dotted in canvases varying in color, covering up the leaking holes. The city was still crumbling away but various wooden structures had been placed down now to stop further collapses until they could mix more cement and smelt more iron. Makeshift tents dotted the landscape as well, sometimes indiscernible as to what was a hole and what was a homestead.

Hornet had a particularly hard time dealing with the bugs of the city. Not interacting with them, mind you, but their very existence shook her. Seeing bugs walk around, talk and parruze was hard to take in.

She had for the longest time though Hollownest was a lost cause, that the radiance would eventually claim every one until they all rotted away. She had figured that would be her eventual end as well, but instead she was here in a kind of bustling city center. Even with the apparent poverty there were still lines of shops that krept down main street.

One could easily find a stand selling fish right next to a starving bug.

 _What a time to be alive_ , she thought to herself.

“Oi, lass!” A voice came from behind her, knocking her out of her thoughts.

Turning around was confronted by three husk sentries. The sentries looked as they did years ago, it turned out the radiance had stopped the ageing process as well as taking over the host. The only real difference Hornet could properly see was a distinct blue armband.

“Haven’t seen your type round er’ before, what are you some sort of spider or somethin’?”

“I don’t really see why that matters.” Hornet said, in less of a retaliational manner and more of a statement.

“Are you havin’ a laugh? You can’t well just go runnin’ round’ ere’ and expect to go unnoticed, it’s you lot that funds the bloody marxists down the way.”

“Yeah, you and your pretty red dress!” One of the sentries behind him chimed in with a smirk as he thought himself so clever.

The (supposed) ring leader of the group, the one in front, turned his head to him. “Oli, shut ya gob you donut what are you on about? Don’t go given compliments to the enemy we’ve discussed this.”

“I thought it was alright.” He said back.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.” He Shook his head and turned back to Hornet.

“If you must know I’m not a spider...” _at least not entirely,_ she said under her breath. “... Just had a… Unusual upbringing.” Hornet finished with a hint of anger.

She knew she was quick tempered, and these men were trying her patients. She could feel her hand inching its way towards her nail.

It seemed as if the guard was about to continue his beratement before a voice sounded just to their left.

Before them was a great husk guard, though not as tall as the ones found in the richer parts of the city. His former shining red armor had been painted a dark blue with several white stripes going outwards across and around the armor all converging in the front.

“Is there a problem you have to report?” Said the large bug, in a simple but seemingly dry tone as if he had done this before.

Immediately all 3 of the husk sentries turned face and saluted the guard. “Sir, we-we weren’t expecting to see yah, ah sir.” He quickly sputtered out.

“Indeed,” he said “I do hope my sentries weren’t trying to extort any possessions from the madam.”

“No, don’t think we got a’ that' part yet.” Said the one in the back, presumably named Oli. His two companions turned to look at him in anger.

“Oli, you stupid cunt.”

“What, I ain’t wrong now am I?” Oil responded

“Ain’t supposed to fuckin’ say that! Did your mum drop you on yer’ head as a child or somethin’?” The sentry to his left said

“I wasn’t dropped, I did get nicked in the ed’ once... With a brick.” Oli said, pointing at his head.

“Go figure yah dunce.”

“Well I think I’ve heard enough. I’m sure the boys at the wall will be ecstatic to hear they have some stand in for the graveyard shift, no?” The blue bug said.

The three sentries were downtrodden on hearing such news but they all gave another solute as there were far worse punishments for extortion and they quickly scuttled away, but not before giving Oli a good wack in the noggin.

He then turned to Hornet. “I’m terribly sorry for the… Inconvenience. These are troubling times and it seems everyone is on edge. I assume you're not from here.”

Hornet had since regained her formal, or as formal as she could manage. “In a sense, I’m new to this dominion.”

“Ah, I see. So lived through the plague, that is quite remarkable. I doubt those lads would have stood much of a chance against one such as yourself.” He said, pausing for a second. Still looking at Hornet but not really, instead seeming to be looking into the past, as if trying to remember.

“You know it’s strange. The plague ate away at our minds, most of us can’t remember much of the old kingdom, we can only piece together its destruction. The last of it was destroyed for good some 2 months ago with the knights. We lost many friends and family, the real tragedy is that most don’t even remember what they have lost.” He said, somberly. He held a great pain. After a few seconds he turned back to Hornet

“Look at me, going on like an elder bug, forgive me. You must have a reason for visiting our fine republic today.”

“I was just passing through, I’m going to the red-cross, in no man’s land.”

“Ah, so you want to help those crazed medics out there.” He said with a light hearted chuckle. “A fine choice, though to be honest I did not take you for a healer, you have an air about you of someone who does quite the opposite.”

Hornet didn’t really know whether to take that as a compliment or not. But, this bug had the stance of a warrior, one who had seen many many battles in his lifetime. He had earned his right to jest.

“Ah, I must be getting back to my patrol. Thank you for your time ms. Hornet, it has been a pleasure.” It took her a few seconds to realise she hadn’t mentioned her name throughout the conversation. As he went to leave he stopped and turned his head back to Hornet.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m sorry for what happened to your mother, Herra. She was a great leader, and an even greater warrior.”

And with that he slipped back into the crowd leaving Hornet to her own.

The remaining walk was uneventful to say the least, though going beyond the border of the Republic of Hollownest one began to appreciate the tarps and wooden sheds all the more. Just outside the wooden fortifications that surrounded the northeastern side of the city were the ruins of the City of Tears.

Hornet felt more at home here. The old decrepit ruins, the corpses strewn about. To many bugs all living in an enclosed space, it would drive her mad. But something about this wasteland did bother her. Out of all the things to be left behind by the Radiance she did not expect that creeping feeling of being watched to follow.

But no matter how hard she looked she could never find the perpetrator. _Now I remember why I hated coming to this place._ She thought to herself.

It wasn’t long before she came across a series of white tents where the statue of Hollow was. The tents stuck out like a sore thumb in the decaying ruins, it was the only semblance of civilization out in “no man’s land” as the city folks called it.

Inside were rows of beds all fitted with white sheets. Some empty, others fitted with a slumbering patient. Some had a cloth drawn over them. It all seemed so sterile, if it were not for the stench one could assume this was a proper hospital. But as it would turn out Quirrel wasn’t there, it was his turn to go scouting as they called it.

The actual area that encompased no man’s land was actually rather large, a few kilometers in all directions from the center of the city. Even so it didn’t take Hornet too long to find Quirrel.

It wasn’t very well hidden, or even if it was it wouldn’t be too hard to find as outside the establishment sat her smaller brother, Ghost. He sat just outside on a fallen piece of concrete debris in the pouring rain. _Of course he’s here_. She of course loved her brothers even if she didn’t show it or say it or think it, but she’d gladly die for the little one. That being said he’d only figured out how to talk, well, communicate recently and it still bugged her that that voice came out of that mouth.

_Oi, Hornet, that you? Blimey this uold’ be the last place I’d think to find the likes of you._

His words echoed around in her head as he said them. “I’d say the same to you, I thought you and Hollow were working in the abyss.”

 _Well, we are, it's just I eard’ this place is crawlin’ with all sorts a dange’. I couldn’t just let my best mate out in this place. Won’t have it, besides, the Abyss ain’t goin’ nowhere mean while this lot._ He gestured over to two bodies slumped against a nearby wall. _Dropin’ by the day, yeah?_

“Those bugs have been dead for months. There’s a cease fire going on. There are less people dying now than ever before” She responded in her usual deadpan voice.

 _Yeah, well, say that to the bloke inside._ He gestured to the building behind him.

She began towards the door before another question hit the small knight. _Wait, if you think it’s so safe, why are you er’?_

She didn’t respond to that final question, instead she walked into the old apartment complex.

Inside there were the remains of a once luxurious lobby. _Must have been a hotel, odd, you’d think I’d remember a place like this._ The wallpaper was surprisingly still intact but heavily faded from water damage, layering the walls in a sad green and white decor. All the paintings had long since fallen over, cracked glass and old wooden frames still scattered the floor. In the middle of the room was a large layer of rubble from where the ceiling had collapsed. Off on the opposite side were Quirrel and another bug, one of those leaping husks during the plague. Their voices echoed across the decolate building.

“... Looks like he couldn’t have died more than 40 minutes ago.” Quirrel said.

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s a hunch more or less. With cuts like these he wouldn’t have been able to make it far. Then judging by the blood and the relative freshness of the cut I’d say I’m at least close.”

The other bug thought about it for a second before giving a short nod and writing something down on a clipboard.

Hornet hadn’t moved from her spot, she had come all this way to see him but now she didn’t quite know how to approach the bug. Lucky for her it seemed that they made the first move

The husk, or former husk, seemed uncomfortable. Rubbing the back of his head. “Dammit, can we hurry this up, I always get that feeling here.” Quirrel seemed to ignore the statement and continued investigating the body.

The husk took a quick glance behind him, not really expecting to see anyone. He turned back to the body then froze in place.

He turned once more and stared directly at Hornet. Took a few steps back before yelling. “Ah shit! Look I told you that little thing wouldn’t stop anything!”

“Christ what is it this time…” Quirrel said, standing up and looking back.

Upon seeing Hornet his face went from one of anger to that of surprise. “Hornet? Is that you? What am I saying of course it’s you. Hey, welcome, I wasn’t expecting you. Should have called ahead I’d have cleaned the place up a bit” He said, with a smile, kicking over a small rock near him.

Hornet, once more, didn’t entirely know how to respond because she didn’t entirely know what she was doing there. But then, as long as he didn’t directly ask…

“So…” Quirrel continued “... What brings you down here?”

“I… Was on patrol, I was close by so I thought I’d drop by...” That wasn’t entirely false but not the full truth either. For some reason just saying she came here to help was too difficult a message to deliver.

“On patrol, patrol of what?” The husk said quietly to himself. Still standing a few meters back behind Quirrel.

“Patrol you say. You wouldn’t have happened to see anything… Unusual out there, would you?” Quirrel asked.

“These are unusual times, you will have to be more specific.”

Quirrel thought for a moment, “here come take a look at this.” He gestured to her to come see the body.

She walked over to the corpse to inspect it, and with it she understood the unusual he was referring to.

The body was that of a wandering husk, splayed out on his back. A thick trail of blood oozed from a large cut that dragged from his torso to his right shoulder. The cut wasn’t clean, however, it jutted the shell outwards. She placed her hand on the wound. Quirrel’s companion interjecte

“What are you doing? Feelin’ up the corpse, you're going to mess the DNA up, it's a, tampering with a crime scene.” 

Hornet looked up from her work, giving the husk a glare. He froze up.

“Oh, ah Hornet this is Nicolas, but we just call him Nick He’s ah…” Quirrel waved his hand in a circle trying to find the best credentials to describe his companion. “...Doctor…”

Hornet had returned to investigating the body, and without turning her head up she asked. “When did you become a doctor?”

“Same time he did.” Nick responded, in a sort of nasty tone.

“Ooh, tushay. Anyway there’s nothing illisit about what we’re doing here. This is no man’s land after all. A lawless land.” Quirrel said.

“Doesn’t make it right. You can’t just go fiddling around with corpses, it’s disrespectful and downright immoral.”

“Nicky we’ve been over this, there’s no room for moral perfection in this world. What the dead don’t need we do. Frankly it would be immoral for these corpses to not give us what we need.” Quirrel replied.

Nick gave a huff, _Yeah, like how you need their alcohol you drunk_ , he said under his breath

It would seem that Hornet had inadvertently restarted an argument, an old one, not that it was any of her business. And it never settled well for social interactions, lucky for her she had an out.

“I’ve inspected the cut. Thing is this wasn’t made by any bug I know of.”

“It’s not a nail cut?” Quirrel asked, moving on from the argument.

“Well, not entirely. A nail slices the shell, a claw tears. The cut juts outwards like a claw would but here at the shoulder it makes a clean exit. A claw's grooves, especially one this big, should create a large opening as the claw comes back inwards. So whoever did this is either very sloppy or some kind of beast.” Hornet finished.

“Wow, that’s amazing” Quirrel said.

Hornet was never one to take in appraisal as she rarely listened to many bugs. However, coming from the scholar she could help but feel a warm sense of pride. It invigorated her to continue forward.

“What is also interesting is his muscles, you can see here, and here in his arms where they tensed up completely.”

“Yeah, that’s rigamortis setting in.” Nick said.

“Yes but rigamortis affects the whole body, the tensnes here was founded right before death. I’m just going off an assumption here but if he froze up like so we could infer that this bug was not a fighter, and was “scared stiff” as you might call it.” Hornet continued.

Nick gave her a questioning stare, coaxing her to explain. “For most bugs with any sense of combat will have a fight or flight reaction to being in a deadly situation. Someone lacking such would only be those who have not been in such a situation.” Hornet finished, the ball was quickly picked up by Quirrel.

“What strikes me is he has no marks or signals to any faction, he looks like a loner. He can’t have been undercover or a spy as he would’ve reacted appropriately to such a situation. No, bite marks, nothing stolen off his person as far as we can tell. This bug was murdered in cold blood, and with no motivation, I’d say he did it for the sheer fun of it.” Quirrel said.

Nick looked pale, or paler than usual, after hearing their discovery. Quirrel was the polar opposite, he looked like a boy who just discovered a 20 Geo on the side of the road.

“Excellent! We have a proper murderer on the loose to catch. How exciting.” He said.

Hornet was surprised by the outburst from Quirrel. It wasn’t often that she saw him happy, and in some weird, extraneous way it made her happy as well.

Nick looked at Hornet, who was absently staring at Quirrel, then to Quirrel himself.

“Oh good, he finally snapped. Well I hate to burst your bubble but the two of us ain't going to make much progress.”

Quirrel stopped for a second. “Well, it will sure as hell be harder.” He looked back to Hornet. “Good news, a position just opened up. We could really use the help.” He said, with a sort of cocky smile she had never seen before.

With that smile, how could she say no?

_Welcome to the peace corps!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out. I've been busy and if I'm frank I have a lot of ideas for this story but I need to slog my way through a bunch of crap to actually get there so motivation has been low. This chapter in particular I kind of rushed through so it's probably not going to come out very good. I promise later chapters will be better, when things actually start picking up I'll hopefully be able to make these faster and longer.
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading my garbage, if you enjoyed it, or hated it please leave a comment I love getting feedback.


	3. The Fool in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hornet begins to get into the routine of things as the cause of the city quiets for the first time. She finds how quickly she adapts to her knew role, now she must question what is to become of her, or if she is even the same person.
> 
> EDIT: I fixed a lot of the spelling and some dialogue (especially at the end) to make it seem more natural and to actually add something to the plot.

The following weeks saw no further improvements in the case, much to Quirrels dismay.

_Not many bugs comin’ through er’, especially these days. Don’t call it no man’s land because the’ve set up a fuckin’ picknic, yeah? Probably just some beast protectin’ their land es’ all._

Ghost brought up a good point, not that she would tell him. Evidently he left to go on some other endeavor when he decided it was safe once more. Life had simmered down in the City of Tears, there were less skirmishes and more building projects. One could now spend an entire day without hearing a crack of musket fire or the groans of the dying.

This gave Hornet ample time to learn the basics. Sure she knew how to put pressure and sew up a wound but apart from that she was rather clueless. She learned how to properly cauterize, clean, and bandage. How to deal with burns, how to fix musket wounds and how to preserve body parts that had been blown off. She even learned how to properly approach a patient who is mentally unstable, whether that be from fighting, wounds, or just in general. An important distinction these days.

Being the new recruit, being talked down to was the hardest to take. Going from the master of one's domain to being yelled at for insufficiently wrapping a wound or failing to see the difference between an aorta and a pulmonary artery. Yet she bore through it with determination and without cutting anyone in half.

“You know, I never took you to be one for healing. No offense but I always thought of you as the loner, stoic type, not one for dealing with others.” Quirrel said

To most she might have taken offense to such a phrase, but Quirrel got a pass. She had been spending a lot more time with the pill bug. From the start of the day with their commute to work they would walk there together, be assigned a location to search for corpses, then the commute back at the end of the day. One such day they were nearing King’s Station after another long day of counting bodies.

“To be honest, I thought the same thing for a while. Yet here I am. How does the phrase go? ‘Time makes fools of us all’.” Hornet responded.

“Hu, an Eric Bell quote, from you? It would seem time hasn’t fooled us as much as it has been flipped upside down.” Quirrel said with a chuckle, Hornet followed in suit.

“Yeah.” She said, holding a minute. Taking in the silence of the station. There was no need to ring the bell the skag knew when their schedule. She was never very good at keeping a conversation going, she just didn’t have much to share. Quirrel had a way of carrying a conversation on his own. He always had a new fact to share or a new story to tell.

“Things have changed so much these past few weeks.” She went on, catching Quirrel’s attention. “I don’t fight anyone. I don’t go out hunting, I took taken up a job, without a proper paycheck, wheren I must interact with the general public in order to save lives. I wake up now and look in the mirror, and I hardly recognise who I am...” Her tone was in a light hearted manner but her wording left an uneasiness. "If you had told me that 20 years ago I would have, well not laughed I suppose, probably yell at you then challenge you to a fight..."

“... You know, I used to think that things were better with the radiance. When everyone was just a mindless husk, it was easier. Where the farthest ahead I had to think was day to day. There was no politics, no civil unrest, no wars, and no socialising.”

Once more she stopped a second, still looking straight ahead at the wall. Quirrel kept quiet. Waiting for her to finish

“Mind you, this was before I had this job. When I was still patrolling those empty lands, without a purpose. Still clinging to the past. That was me, as I was 20 something years ago. It’s hard to think that 20 years couldn’t do what three weeks had managed…" She paused a second. "You know, Sometimes I think, when I look in that mirror, I still see a faint glimpse of her…” Just as she was finishing her thought she a single sentence popped into her head.

_One day you learned you weren’t the person you thought you were…_

“...And I wonder if she’ll ever come back.” The last words escaped her lips, and the air seemed to still.

They could hear the soft rumble of the skag beetle. One could easily hear it through Quirrel’s silence.

Hornets mind, like the approaching skag, built up one solid quote and had left it on loop. It only got louder as the skag thundered forward.

_Why did I say that?_

She had no intention of telling Quirrel, or anyone for that matter what her problems were. It wasn’t in her nature.

The ride home was quiet, Quirrel didn’t say a word for its entirety, choosing to instead stare out the side at the cavern. She wanted him to say something, anything really. Had she hit a soft spot? Inadvertently said something she shouldn’t have? It clogged up her mind so nothing else could penetrate through. When they finally reached the station at Dirtmouth. It was only then that Quirrel finally began to speak.

“We all change for one thing or another. Sometimes it's for a cause, a feeling, a person. It doesn’t really matter.” He began, he turned to Hornet.

“I wonder, though. Change is not something easy to embrace. It has destroyed bugs and empires alike.”

“Do you not like it, this new me?” Hornet interupted, the question was emotional but her tone was just as deadpan as it usually was.

“No, no nothing like that, because you’re not new. We aren’t rebirthed in strife, we merrily adapt. The Hornet you knew didn’t die, it just turns out she was you all along.” Quirrel responded with a smile. A warm feeling filled Hornet, a sort of cozy feeling. Perhaps more than someone should feel when receiving a compliment.

They slowly made their way to the elevator and hit the switch, the machine groaned a little before lurching upwards.

“That’s not to say we don’t change in arbitrary ways, like how we socialize or how we care for someone. I mean at our core we are defined by our actions. It was never that you were incapable of being a healer. You are still the protector of Hollownest, you’re just doing it in a new way.”

They stepped out into the open sky, in the small town of Dirtmouth. They had reached their houses, squarely opposite one another.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Hornet said

“Probably not, unfortunately. Tomorrow is Thursday, and you know what that means.” Quirrel responded.

“The Colosseum has their opening?”

“Indeed, it has been a nice quiet 3 weeks without him but I feel as if tomorrow I will be getting a visitor.” Quirrel said with a laugh

Hornet gave a soft chuckle as well. The two began towards their separate abodes before Quirrel stopped and turned back to Hornet.

“One last thing. I’ve gotta ask, of all the things in this godforsaken place, what made you change?” Quirrel asked.

“Well.” Hornet Responded. “I met you I suppose.”

Then she opened the door to her home and walked in.

She never quite realised just how tired she was until she got home, it hit her like a sledgehammer. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

* * *

She woke the next morning to a dark and empty bedroom. The sky was tainted in a blue hue with the promise of sunrise. She slowly got out of bed and went to the bathroom.

The mirror reflected the image of her. The same person it would have 20 years ago. Last night wasn’t a drunken confession or any of the sort which made the whole ordeal that much more… _Weird_.

But then, when she looked in the mirror she recognised the face, the body, it was all still her. She was still in control, she was still Hornet the huntress, fearless defender of Hollownest she had just…

_Adapted_

At the time it didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Transitioning into a medical field. It should have been an easy switch, a new calling. But it caused such a shift in her psyche, she didn’t like to think about it.

She splashed some water in her face, ate some breakfast, put on her uniform and was off to work. She hadn’t realised the day would be so arduous until she got to the skag station. Starting ones day with an existential crisis is never a good idea but now she realised she had no one to talk to. That was a new feeling.

 _And it can’t be something I adapted_ , she thought.

In rebuttal she was met with only the empty silence of the cave, a resounding success in the debate.

It was going to be a long day.

The day went slowly. She was assigned guard duty, which she found rather ironic. It seems she had been given the role of protector once again. Since Quirrel wasn’t here the search party was assigned to another group. And through the day they’d receive little more than drunkards who had overindulged or homeless bugs pretending to be sick or injured for a bite to eat.

Hornet thought it was kind of backwards that they would heal the wounded at the drop of a hat but were incapable of handing out food.

“We’re a hospital, not a food pantry. Not our fault their governments can't feed em’.” The other ‘guard’ said. They always worked in pairs, though she felt it unnecessary. Turns out a house full of medics isn’t the best place to find warriors. _Maybe wounded ones_.

“It’s also not our fault they come in wounded but we still help them. Isn’t starving to death sort of like an ailment” Hornet replied.

“no, cause’ we’re a hospital.” He said without missing a beat

 _Fair enough._ She thought. As she stood outside the main camp tent, it was where the generals or surgeons or whoever was in charge of this place stayed. Quirrel had told her at one point but she was only half paying attention at the time and now she was just too afraid to ask.

When she was first told she would be guarding the main tents she felt sort of pleased. It was an honour to protect the kings of a relm, the royal guard at the height of the Kingdom of Hollownest were some of the most renowned and respected bugs around.

Then again they actually had people to defend against. The only threat here would be rowdy. The city folks knew better than to attack the peace corps, regardless of ideology, the peace corps was known to heal all who came through. Though when there’s a lack of dead or wounded make the job rather uneventful.

 _Probably for the best._ She thought once more, eyeing the musket in her arm. She was a warrior through and through. But a nail was her weapon of choice, not this overly complicated bow and arrow. Combat was her specialty so when she was asked if she needed any insight as to what she needed to know she declined. Now she was too embarrassed to ask. It made people uncomfortable when she carried her nail with her, so she left it behind.

_Well, I’ve got one shot, that’s all I really need… Unless there are two of them…_

But nothing ever did come to test this. She stood there for hours, and she felt every minute. She was 90% sure the other bug had fallen asleep, not that he would be much for company, and by the 4th hour she was pretty sure she had thought every thought one could think. Then she mentally slapped herself for thinking that thought.

Most ended in missing Quirrel in one capacity or another. Not that she cared for him; he just made existing here more barrable. Sure she learned today that guard duty was the worst, she did genuinely enjoy being out in the field. But with Quirrel there it never really felt like work.

Now she really wishes she had bought that watch, there was no way of telling the time down here, or at least where she was standing. Then again there were plenty of dead bodies out there full of functional timepieces. But they were mostly half broken and rusted shut.

The day went on slowly till finally, a bug came in saying the day shift was over. Her legs were sore and her morale was beaten. The whole ordeal, or lack thereof, had sullied the day for her. It was time to get home.

When she reached the station it was 9:48. The old glass clock had been degrading for a while, she hoped it was on time.

 _Quirrel and I should really get to fixing that,_ she thought. Not that they knew even the first thing about clock repair.

They chugged down the endless tunnel, all the while Hornet could feel herself drifting off to sleep.

She finally reached home, she had to drag herself to bed. Barely making it to the bed frame before dropping like a rock.

* * *

  
  


She awoke the next morning and found gravity to be much heavier today, or perhaps her bedsheets had gained a few extra kilograms. Regardless, every part of her body protested as she slouched out of bed and made her way to the bathroom for her daily routine.

Searching her cupboard she found a surprising lack of food. Not that she had been eating much of it. She was often too tired to do much cooking or eating for that matter. Now she knew why Quirrel got so skinny, she thought it was depression.

She made her way outside and found Quirrel waiting for her by the street corner. He gave a wave as she approached.

“Morning you, so how did your first day go without mwa?” Quirrel asked in an exaggerated fashion, emphasizing the mwa.

“Ppphhh, I don’t even want to talk about it.” Hornet responded, it was exhausting just thinking about it.

“That bad, hu?” The two started on their way to the station.

“Imagine standing in one place for 12 hours straight doing nothing. I tell you it’s maddening.”

“I can’t imagine, never been assigned guard duty before, I’m more of an offensive sort of chap.”

“Yeah, would have been nice to have a pocket watch, considering it seems like every clock in that damned city is broken. I think I’d look rather nice with one. And maybe I could tell what bloody time it is once in a while.”

“Maybe, maybe…” Quirrel said, rapping up that portion of the conversation. They moved on to the stories of a growing power to the east of Hollownest. Some group called the Turks or the Ottomans, apparently they were interchangeable.

They reached base without any problems and were turned to the grinder once more, off to find and tag bodies. At this point she was more of a deiner than a healer considering how few patients she had had to work on. It was like working at a mortuary and she was rather good at it.

They were given a long list of names and a building and were sent off. Some of them had a description, most did not. Trying to find who went where was like a little mystery she had to solve.

Just outside a grand apartment complex, which was closer to a hotel by how luxurious it was, or rather used to be. They were in what used to be the richer district of the city, where the high merchants and extended royal families stayed. It was the most populated area in no man’s land save only the peace corps headquarters. Since it had been scavenged clean for a while now none of the governments wanted to use them. They were old, even when the city was alive and well. They had little to no tactical service and with little usable resources, it just wasn’t worth it.

Yet many still resided over this place. There was no government or ruler; it was more just a congregation of bugs. Many of the beds in the buildings were still intact due to the foreign wood they used to make them. It was often too unruly to break down into anything useful, making them prime targets for the homeless. One large downside to this, however, was that the occupants would often drop whoever was in the room out the window and onto the pavement below.

Obviously he had died long ago, from what Hornet wasn’t entirely sure. His body was clean of cuts or bruises save for the fractures his body endured after the fall, not that there would be any left. It was near impossible to tell after this long. The stench was near unbearable but Hornet had (sort of) gotten used to it.

“Hu, all the Geo in the world couldn’t stop them from being left in the roadside ditch.” Nick said, jutting something down on his clipboard.

“If I had to guess this bug either killed himself or the radiance got him in his sleep.” Hornet said, out loud to no one in particular.

“It could do that?” Quirrel responded, a few meters away inspecting the body of what looked like the elder bug but without his left horn missing.

“We can only assume at the moment. Unless he met his demise by poison, which was my second guess. For that theory all I have is… Well, nothing really. I can’t see his room and I can’t check his stomach so I’m going based on an assumption... And poisoning implies political intrigue, adds a little spice to the story.”Thought Hornet.

"Indeed, our Hornet ladies and gentlemen, always one for theatrics." Quirrel said teasingly.

The body was outside the building, face down in the pavement. He hadn’t died from the collision. Bodies didn’t rot that fast, no, he died long ago.

“But in all seriousness, does it really matter?” Asked Quirrel.

“That really depends, does...” Hornet reached into the bug's old dusty jacket and picked out his wallet, devoid of any Geo at his point, and looked at his identification. “...Mr. Tunar deserves a proper remembrance. Or do we leave him to the annals of time?”

“Ooh, Mrs. Big words comin’ out with all these fancy sayings. Jeez, has Quirrel really rubbed off on you that much?” Asked Nick.

“A very poor choice of words.” Quirrel said, still poking at the body.

“Oh shut it! Just tell me what you think and let's get on with it. We have a lot more bodies to find.” Nick responded. He wasn’t the smartest but he did have an air of determination about him. And he was a damned fast writer which made him invaluable.

“Put him down for… Natural causes.” Hornet responded. She took out a yellow piece of paper, shaped in a small square, with a large 5 plastered on the front of it. She placed it on the husk's forehead and stood up.

“Another satisfied customer.” Quirrel said.

“Yeah, that was funny the last 5 times you said.” Nick replied.

“Wasn’t meant to be funny.” Quirrel said, turning around from the body and looking at Nick.

He didn’t have anything to say in response, instead looking back at the body with a sort of sad look in his eyes.

“We all have to die sometime, that’s why when I kick the bucket, metaphorically, I’ll lay myself out in a grand position. So it looks like I died tightrope walking while juggling torches.” Quirrel said with a laugh.

Hornet couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Nick gave a sort of half-hearted chuckle as he looked back at Quirrel.

She placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder and gave him a lite shake. “You’re too pure for work like this, you know that?” She asked, still laughing.

“I think it’s more like there's a time and place for jokes and the sort. Only the bloody mentally insane or those devoid of any empathy go on like that in their presence.” Nick replied.

This only made Quirrel laugh harder, but it made Hornet think.

“You don’t seem like the type to work the mortuary, so why do you do it?” Hornet asked.

“Cause someone has too, knowing you two you’d probably just put down died of plague or something.” He said, holding his clipboard to his shell as if to protect it.

“Ah, so little faith.” Quirrel said, wiping a tear away from his mask. He placed a hand on his chin and thought about what the younger bug had said.

"No that's not right, we have plenty of old timers more than capable of moving bodies. I think you get off to this sort of stuff, the same way we do. Learning the little pieces of a bygone era, getting a small look into their lives at the grand finale of their lives." Quirrel said. "You can have your morality but don't count me as an idiot. I was born in this age, molded and thrived. And one day you'll learn to laugh, cause it won't do them any good anymore."

Just as Quirrel had finished his sentence the trio froze. From within the building came a blood curdling scream. One of pain and fear. Quirrel reached into his uniform jacket and pulled out a flintlock pistol before bolting upstairs. Hornet followed close behind.

They were given a job. To serve and protect. It was time for the protector of Hollownest to do her duty.


	4. In Layman's Terms: Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew get one step closer to finding out who this creature is and Hornet discovers the ups and downs of gunpowder.

The building in question was only about 6 stories of eroding wood, yet due to it’s upbringing most of the wooden support used for the floors had remained intact through the Radiance and the rain.

The cry came from the top floor. The duo made their assent, rushing up the stairs, the decaying paper and paintings flashing past them as they made their way up. Being on ranger duty didn’t require any bug to go out of their way to help those in danger, in fact it was often frowned upon. You didn’t want to accidentally walk into political affairs or ideological disagreements. The Peace Corps teetered on a very delicate balance of helping the divided kingdom wounded and staying neutral.

It took only a few seconds to reach the top floor, the yelling had stopped about half-way up. The floor only had 4 doors on it, all old wooden frames inscribed with various family crests.

Quirrel went to the door straight to their right and gave the door handle a jiggle before knocking on the door.

“Hello? Peace Corps were here to help anyone in there?” He yelled. No reply, the aftermath of his knock seemed to eat up all the sound around it, leaving only silence.

Quirrel went to the door on the opposite side of the hallway and knocked, not really expecting an answer. He also gave the door handle a jiggle which produced lackluster results.

The stairs creaked behind them. Up staggered an out of breath Nickolous, grasping his chest and leaning on the wall.

“Jees, you lot are quick, uhh, fuck.” He said, with intermittent huffs.

Quirrel was still investigating the door, looking for any signs of a breach or a scuffle.

“Nick, do us a favor, go downstairs and see if anyone heard or saw anything.” Quirrel said.

Nick gave Quirrel a glare and looked at the pistol still grasped in the scholar’s hand.

“What you expect me to go off alone without any protection? I mean look at you, you're both packin.” Nick protested.

“Not our fault you came without anything to protect yourself.” Quirrel responded, finally turning back to the bug.

“Yeah, almost like it’s against the rules.” Nick said under his breath.

Quirrel gave a huff and rolled his eyes as he reached into his coat. He pulled out a second pistol. Unlike the one he held in his hand, a simple wood and metal flintlock, the other pistol was white, almost like ivory, it had engravings etched into the frame all colored a metallic gold. There was no pan below the hammer, instead there was a small metal wheel. Quirrel handed it to Nick who was rather surprised to see such a work of art come out of that old coat.

“Christ Quirrel what else you have under there, a whole arsenal?” Hornet asked, eyes still glued to the majestic pistol with Nick.

“Ha, wouldn’t you like to know.” Quirrel said with a chuckle, he paused for a second. “That came out wrong.”

“Yeah, alright, I guess this will do. Though, one quick question, how do I reload this thing?” Nick said, eyeing the circular device on the gun.

Quirrel stopped a second and looked at him. “We're in an enclosed space here, if you need to reload you’re already dead. And if I find you dead and my pistol gone I’m gonna kill you myself.”

Nick had intended to protest more but stopped himself. “Fine, yeah, just let the one untrained bug in this trio go alone, yeah alright. If Quirrel wasn’t such a twat I’d say he’s trying to kill me.” He finished before turning back down the stairs, grumbling.

The two waited till he was fully down the stairs before speaking. “Can’t really be upset with him, this place bleeds uneasiness.” Hornit said as the two turned to the 3rd door at the other end of the hallway.

“Yeah, I suppose, though it’s not the scream that puts me on edge, it’s the lack thereof.” Quirrel responded, knocking on the door. “This is possibly one of the largest concentrations of population, if not the only in no man’s land. So…” He gestured around them.

“Where is everyone?”

Hornet felt a distinct tingle run down her spine, one of fear. The hollowed knocking that came from the floor below seemed to echo around, only adding to the tension.

“Well, it would seem diplomacy has failed, now we take drastic measures.” Quirrel said before lifting his leg and smashing his foot against the door producing a loud _THUD_. He tried this about 3 more times with little results. The door was old and murky but sturdy.

Quirrel gave a small huff, both hands at his side, observing the damage he had encored on the door. Which was very little.

“Hu. Alright plan B then.” He said, then looking to Hornet. “You might want to cover your ears.”

In one swift move he brought up his pistol to the lock of the door and pulled the trigger.

_BANG!_

The end of the barrel exploded in a storm of fire and smoke. Hornet couldn’t properly see the explosion as the gun flashed out the ensuing bang made her clamp her head, she felt her brain rattle around from the reverberation.

Hornet had never actually seen one of these go off in person before. It was rather exciting.

“Hey, are you alright?” She felt a hand grab her by the shoulder and gave a small shake. She shook her head and looked back at Quirrel. “Yeah, just a bit… Loud is all. No need to worry.” She mumbled. He smiled, his body seemed to relax at that. Her heart was racing. _Odd, it wasn’t that exciting…._

“Sorry about that…” He said, taking a small circular pipe from the front of the gun and pushing it down the barrel. “Some don’t take it too well, for the first time. But then…” He looked at where the lock used to be, which was now just a small hole with wood seeming to splinter from all sides.

“Come on, danger waits for no one.” Quirrel said, walking into the now unlocked room.

“Yeah, unless it’s a trap.” Hornet responded following suit.

The room was as one would expect, it’s interior matching the decaying wooden frames and paper of the hallway outside. The room was rather large spanning ¼ of the building's floor, though it was surprisingly empty, save for a fireplace and a couch huddled into the corner. The room was noticeably clean or as clean as one could get in the luxury of poverty. Devoid of most rubble and debris.

The room opened into the living room, the bedroom was just to the right surrounded by walls that pushed the bedroom door forward, outside the line of sight. Which wouldn’t be a problem if the duo hadn’t turned the corner and found the door blasted open, lying on the floor. Pushed inwards, it’s hinges were still attached to the door and had taken some of the door frame with it. The wood was dry, it had come down not too long ago. The small bits of splinter around the affected area seemed to confirm this.

The bedroom housed a huge queen sized bed that took up nearly the entire bed. It was torn up, distinct claw marks had torn the fabric and the old green blanket that had been tossed around. The structure surrounding the bed had collapsed in, one of it’s pillars had splintered from a hit.

This was all interesting but it did not catch their eye, instead their focus was on the bed. Just below the torn pillows was a large pool of blood. The blood trailed in a streek, from the bed spread, up the wall and into a rather large hole in the roof. Blood still dripped from the splinters jutting out, slowly dripping onto the bed below.

“Lucky us…” Hornet began but Quirrel placed a finger on her lips, he gave a subtle nod upwards. Everything was completely quiet, she strained her ears. As she did she could hear a faint exhale, coming from the hole in the ceiling.

Quirrel slowly pulled the hammer back on the pistol.

_*Click*_

The ceiling erupted in scuttering as whatever was up there tried to move away, it’s appendages thundering against the thin layer of ceiling.

As quick as the sound was Quirrel’s hand instantly shot up and fired.

_BANG!_

Once more the gun exploded in a bright light, sending an arc of smoke and fire forward. Followed by the distinct sound of breaking wood. Whatever was above let out a screech of pain and seemed to lose balance as a powerful thud shook the ceiling. It quickly recovered and continued to make its way out of the bedroom. The ceiling shook and soot cascaded down.

Quirrel began to reload the pistol. Pulling out a white cartridge and opening it with his teeth before pouring it down the barrel. While he attempted to reload Hornet took the initiative, she hopped onto the bed then up into the hole. The blood had pooled up here, it was a much larger puddle then on the bed. It had been waiting here for sometime. Hornet had little time to take in such details.

The ceiling was short, Hornet had to duck her head to stand up. It was also nearly pitch black, she could only make out the pathway was from the light coming in from the bullet hole Quirrel had made. A small trail of black blood trailed forward. Running forward she could only rely on her hearing and faint outlines to lead her forward. The beast made various turns through the decaying wooden boards that made up the support.

_BANG!_

Another shot rang through the building, a new hole popped through the floor ahead, light seeping through the crack. What she could make out was still all black, like it was made of shadow.

Shortly after the second shot she stopped dead in her tracks. The thunder of footsteps had subsided, not further away, but rather all of the sudden. It was impossible to see anything ahead with the light poring through, it made everything else immeasurably darker.

Except for the two glowing white eyes staring at her. She had never been afraid of beasts of any sort, she was born in the dark reaches of Deep Nest, nothing scared her. But those eyes, they caused a cold shiver to run through her. They seemed empty, yet, so full of hunger. The floor, or rather ceiling, beneath her gave a loud groan as she stood there. Unhappy with this new weight that had been applied.

_BANG!_

A third shell was fired, ripping through the ceiling. The hole popped just to the left of the monster and by the screech it made it seems the bullet hit its mark. The beast dropped something, making an audible thump on the ceiling as the creature turned tail and began once more fleeing through the darkened space.

Hornet was frozen in place, a cold sweat dripping off her. She only managed to turn her head when the ceiling gave one last lurch before collapsing beneath her. There was a loud yell from someone downstairs, though, she didn’t really have time to think as she fell down. She landed on her side with a thud.

For a few seconds she laid there on the floor, dazed and confused.

“Hornet! Are you alright?” She heard a voice beside her. She was more invested in the shooting pain in her arm.

“Do I look alright to you?” She replied with a grown. The richer bugs usually had tall rooms to accommodate any guests, turns out she fell quite the distance. _Ohh, this is going to hurt a lot tomorrow._

“Anything broken?” Quirrel asked, moving Hornet onto her back and off the small pile of rubble she had created, checking her over.

“Just my soul, maybe.” Nick said, just a little ways off. She hadn’t even realised he had come back up. He was standing closer to the hallway, eyes peeled on the ceiling, pistol gripped tightly in his hand. “And maybe my lunch.”

“Your lunch, what are you…” Quirrel began, looking up from his patient and at Nick before following his line of sight to the ceiling. A few meters ahead of the new hole Hornet had made. A large dark stain was slowly etching its way across.

_*Plop*_

A slow trickle of blood, falling through the thin membrane of softwood and rotted insulation. The ceiling gave another moan and creaked again.

“Nick get back!” Quirrel gave a shout, as he did the ceiling gave way and down fell a second body. Smashing into the floor unmoving. The splinters and wooden base that had fallen with him were covered in blood.

The bug almost looked like a pill bug, but with a leaner structure and a straighter back. His mask was also unique. It didn’t look like it quite fit right. It was engraved and etched with various markings, making up branches and a family crest at the top. Nobility.

“Fuck me, if I stay in this hell hole any longer I’ll have a heart attack.” Nick said, letting out an exhale, grabbing his chest.

Quirrel didn’t say anything, instead he stared at the body for a few seconds before turning his attention back to Hornet. “Are you okay to walk?” He asked, reaching out a hand.

Hornet gave a nod and took his hand with her good arm. She wobbled a little but soon righted herself.

The three walked over to the still body, Hornet got down on one knee for closer inspection. The claw marks cutting through the bugs shell were nearly identical to the body they found a month ago, that was immediately apparent. That’s not what caught her attention though.

“Look here.” She said, pointing to the bug's left arm which was twisted and jutted out at a right angle. “See here this wasn’t a deliberate break. If you were going to snap someone's arm you certainly wouldn’t do it here at the upper quartex of the arm, it should break in the middle. He hit something extremely hard.”

“Like a bed frame.” Quirrel added.

“So what? He broke his arm on a bed what a revelation.” Nick said.

“You would need an extraordinary amount of force to break a ligament there.” Quirrel said. “So whatever was here has incredible strength…” He continued, looking up at the two massive holes in the ceiling. “But incredibly nimble.”

“This bug wasn’t killed by a slash, these aren’t fatal.” Hornet said, checking over the various cuts and bruises. “He bled to death, not too long ago. Probably passed out about when we entered this room.”

“Why didn’t he say something when we got up?” Nick said.

“Can’t talk with a fractured jaw.” Hornet held for a second. “Fractured… Not broken.” She slid her hand over the affected area.

“The beast was trying to transport him, I think. We must have spooked him and caused a panic.” Hornet finished. Standing back up.

Quirrel had since moved to outside the bedroom, investigating the crime scene. Though still listening in on Hornet’s observations.

“Not exactly. Think about it. No one has seen or heard this thing prowl around. People just seem to disappear around here.” Quirrel said, deliberating his theory.

“I think it got sloppy. On the last body we found no mess, no struggle. Whatever this thing is, it got caught in the act and panicked. Then tried to recover his position.” Quirrel continued, walking back over to Hornet and Nicholas.

“This thing isn’t a murderous monster, or well he is just not in the way we thought he was. He doesn’t kill, he abducts.”

“He could just be abducting them then killing them, in solitude.” Nick said.

“Unlikely…” Quirrel responded. “If it was just a blood lust he was after, why did he hold onto this bug when we entered? He could have just turned tail and ran, find another victim farther away. No, this was a deliberate obduction to do something with him.”

A cold silence filled the room as the group processed what he had said. Nick finally broke the silence.

“Do we have any info on the deceased?”

“None.” Hornet replied. “He’s a nameless bug, lost and forgotten.”

“Nice mask though.” Nick said.

All three gave a nod in agreement. It was nice coming to a decisive conclusion.

The other 3 rooms were checked and searched with no results. All empty, though they appeared to have been lived in recently.

They moved the body outside, it was sort of awkward as the bug's mangled body limped into awkward angles. It was like a piece of furniture falling apart as they were moving. They managed and left the body for someone to identify. Nicholas marked some notes down on the incident, nothing incriminating of course, and the group started back towards home base.

As they walked Quirrel couldn’t help but notice Hornets right arm, flopping limply at her side as she walked. “Sure you’re alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, I think I just sprained it.” She said, trying to move it up until a shooting pain caused her to cringe and lower it. “That’s never going to heal back properly.” She said.

“Tell me about it, messed up my leg a few months ago. Still aches often enough.” Nick said. She had never noticed but he did have a small limp in his step, it was hard to pick up as it was intermittent. “Hey I thought you lot... Like your brother, I thought you were like, stronger than normal bugs, like…” Nick said, pausing for a second. “I saw him once jump off an 8-story building and land on the ground as if it were nothing. I guess you lost the gene lottery?”

“A sort of ex machina if you will.” Quirrel chimed in.

“Well…” Hornet began. “I’m sort of like a bastard of bastards. I’m too normal to be a void creature but too different to be a normal bug.” She finished rather nonchalantly, but Quirrel could see, on her face, that it bothered her. In another time, perhaps in another life she would have gotten angry at the bug for such a question. It didn’t seem to matter now.

“Well, except for your near suicidal bravery you seem normal to me. It’s an abnormal world.” Quirrel said. “And we’re all just livin’ in it.”

They reached home base after about 20 minutes of walking. It was only 11:30 when they got back. _Oof, it’s going to be a long day_. Hornet thought. It was hard to think that they have a whole day of work after that short burst of excitement and terror. It was the kind of thing you went home to after. And her arm was starting to really hurt.

She was sort of dazed, so much so she didn’t notice Quirrel walk off then return a few minutes later.

“Hornet, hey!” He said, snapping her out of her daze. “I got us the rest of the day off.”

“Why’s that?” She asked. “Do we get to leave early for a workplace injury at a hospital?”

“Not usually for physical but definitely for mental. We’ve got a stressful job and doctors don’t do very well if they’re always stressed. Mistakes happen. Also there’s no workers comp so this is what we get.” Quirrel explained.

Hornet wasn’t about to argue. She needed a rest. _Although…_ “We have a rare occurrence in our midst.” Quirrel interrupted her thoughts. “We could go home and rest or… We happen to be down in the city center at noon with nothing better to do.” He raised his hand out to her. “So, care to take a gander?” He asked.

She hesitated for a moment. Not at the proposition itself but at his hand, before lowering her own into his. She felt her cheeks heat up. “Wonderful! Let’s get moving.” She hadn’t expected him to start moving so quickly and it caused her to lurch forward. Pain shot through her right arm as it swung backwards, she let out a ruff cry of pain that did not go unnoticed by Quirrel.

“Right, first let’s get you properly fixed.” He said, cursing himself for being so careless.

He got her in a simple cast, which pained her. Not really physically but rather she had been living on her own through the apocalypse and had never had such trouble. She had taken plenty of hits, she had the scars to prove them. She had fallen before, but she had always gotten back up. Now she fell a few meters and her arm was out of commission. _Have I gotten weaker?_ She didn’t have the capacity to dwell on such matters, she just wanted to focus on enjoying herself. The two started off towards the Republic of Hollownest. Nick wasn’t allowed in, so he declined to come with. The streets were bustling with people. Things seemed to have improved since the last time she came through here. There were less homeless and starving, the people seemed cheerier, the whole atmosphere seemed better in fact. The roads had been fixed. Its cracks and holes had been patched in with a new grey paste that supposedly worked wonders. The buildings, though still old and worn, did seem reinvigorated with life as the windows were covered in shades and pictures. Or just people. Children played in the allies. Even the guards seemed more cheerful.

What really caught her attention was the amount of stuff one could buy. Since the various factions had been at peace foreign trade had picked up all at once. There were bugs of all sorts from all parts of the world selling their wares. Apparently this was an important hub for those trying to get to Russia up north, traversing the Caucasus Mountains was always troublesome.

Many of the traders were from places Hornet had never heard of. They came from the Ottomans and Egypt. Persia and the Mughals. Even traders far west from Naples, Venice and the Netherlands. They talked in a strange tongue but they accepted Geo all the same.

They had all sorts of wares. From exotic spices and wines to paintings and small sculptures. They were able to buy a few cheap, their uniforms gave them a small discount from the traders. They sold books, masks, philosophy, religion and just about everything else under the sun.

Quirrel always loved coming through here in peace times. Though he found himself overlooking most of the raw material. All the books from every corner of the world were far less appealing than Hornet’s wide eyed face when she reached the clothing and fabrics.

Hornet held her hand on a length of cloth, she had always assumed that Deepnest produced the finest silk in the world. But these silks from China were some of the finest weaving she had ever seen. She didn’t actually want it, she was still a bit prideful of her heritage.

Well, she didn’t want anything until she got to the weapons. Halberds, reapers, short and long swords, needles, javelins, but most importantly, firearms.

They had all sorts of lengths and encryption. They had long bore rifles, Indian matchlocks, western flintlocks, Tibetan hand cannons and pistols from every corner of the world. And this large round cannon called a Puckle gun from Great Britain.

Hornet had been forged in combat with the needle, it was all she really knew. It felt like such a distant memory, but it still nagged her as she inspected the various pistols. She may be prideful but she was keenly aware when it came to warfare and adaptation. She couldn’t deny the overwhelming firepower of the firearm over the sword.

Most doctors were paid by their various states. It was perhaps the only thing all three sides could agree on. Unfortunately she wasn’t part of any of these states, she could only receive a small pension that they could scrape together, and even then she would usually decline.

Not that the family was ever low on funds. Ghost seemed to have an infinite supply of Geo for some reason. She had saved up enough through the last 20 years.

Her eyes were stuck on one piece. A flintlock, imported from Prussia. It had a well polished dark oak base, with a bright steel barrel and hammer, the ram rod and hilt were decorated in gold and black plating. It was simple, yet elegant. The price was steep at 700 Geo for the gun and the nice black case, and she needed a holster for the gun, plus some more for cartridges, and a cartridge pouch cause where else would she put them?

By the end of her 10 minute spree she was well out of money. She really wished she had collected more during the plague, it just seemed so useless back then.

It was almost 4:00 by the time they exited the city. With her new equipment that worked well with her uniform. Which was essentially a soldier's light coat but white, with a white armband with a red cross on it. It wasn’t always fashionable but it did make hiding her holster a whole lot easier and came as a sign of respect. People seemed to treat her differently with it on, an air of respect followed it wherever it was recognised. Regardless it felt nice to own new things, a strange concept but hadn’t had anything new since the outbreak. She either patched up old clothing or plundered the dead. She could have probably ransacked a home and found a pistol all the same but they were all rusted and crummy. Plus the bug’s stories of the grand Prussian army and Frederick the Great.

They made their way down the path, out to no man's land and into king's station. They had chatted about this and that the whole way, sharing old stories and all the strange things they had seen at the bazaar.

“So, did you enjoy yourself.” Quirrel asked as he rang the bell, from how she had gone on about the silk and Prussia he was sure she had but he wanted to hear her say it. _For some reason._

“I’ll say, I haven’t had that much fun since, well, since before the plague.” Hornet said.

“Oh, that’s good. For the longest time I thought you were allergic to that word.” Quirrel responded.

“Yeah so did I…” She said, giving a small chuckle.

As she looked at Quirrel she couldn’t help but peek at the still broken clock on the wall, forever stuck at 9:48. Quirrel caught this look and turned to the clock as well.

“Still hasn’t moved, ehh?” Quirrel said. “Gears must be busted or something… Though. On that same sort of note.” He continued, turning back to hornet and reaching into his pocket. “I got you something.”

From his pocket he pulled out a circular disk or sorts. It was shined in gold, with many small engravings etched into every inch of it. Protruding from the top was a gear and a button, connecting to a chain. He handed it to her. Her mind was sort of fuzzy presently, she could only think of how they stood so close together, when she had started they waited a few feet apart. And she never noticed. 

Her mind started working once more when he handed it to her. For such a small stature it was quite heavy. She pushed the button on top of the device and it opened up revealing a beautiful oriental watch.

“My god Quirrel, I can’t…” She began but was promptly interrupted.

“Don’t worry about it, it's a present, I know the maker, I got a good deal.” He reassured her. “Besides, you look good with it… I mean you, it suits you.” He quickly corrected himself.

Hornet had felt ‘blood rush to her cheeks’ before, but now she was blushing. She’d never received a gift from anyone outside her immediate family, and never anything this expensive. A deep, genuine smile creeped across her face.

A there was a distant rumbling of the coming skag but she was rather preoccupied.

Quirrel had never seen her smile like that, really there were a lot of things he had never seen her do, but this was definitely his favorite. It was a contagious smile, one that seemed to spread to him as well.

The skag pulled into the station, he was surprised to find them off work so early, and to see Hornets arm in a cast. Quirrel promised to explain it on the way.

They had a short ride back, finally they reached Dirtmouth and exited up the lift.

It was 5:20 when they reached home, Hornet checked. She was tired, sure, but deep down she didn’t want the day to end.

“Well we’re home I suppose.” Quirrel started.

“Yep.”

“Ehhha, yeah. So hey the day is still young… You wanna come over for drinks, try out your new armaments?” Quirrel asked, in a far less confident tone then she was used to.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Hornet responded.

Quirrel’s face lit up in a smile of glee as they made their way to his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 done! Sorry this took so long to make I would say I've been busy but I haven't, I just didn't have the motivation to write, then all of the sudden I write a whole chapter in a day. Funny how that works, anyway hopefully I'll get back on track. I should also note I fixed up chapter 3 a bit, fixed spelling and made the dialogue actually add to the story.
> 
> And if you liked it, or hated it, leave a comment, I do love feedback and I'll actually try and respond to everyone this time.


	5. You Can't Lay On Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quirrel and Hornet finally get some time to unwind at home.
> 
> That's... That's really it...

It had been another long day for Iselda, hundreds of bugs were passing through Dirtmouth throughout the day in search of the “forgotten city” which the more she thought about it the more ironic it sounded. Wasn’t very lost if everyone knew about it. Houses needed to be renovated, public accommodations were needed like bars, and that was sort of it. Venders set up small shops every day for the passing caravans and there were more than a few bugs looking to settle down.

Most bugs looked for a “mayor” of sorts and that responsibility sort of just fell on her. She made sure there was rentable housing, that contraband was kept off the local market and that the fledgling economy was kept afloat.

Cornifer was already setting up plans for stores and a bar as well as a fire station, guard barracks, and sentry posts. It was tiresome for everyone but damn it if it didn’t pay well. She had more cash then she knew what to do with.

Unfortunately for her, the property value of her town was about to take a sharp drop.

_BANG!_

The distinct crack of gunfire filled the air, from just a few houses over, which spurred Iselda out of any sort of daydream she might have had. She immediately hopped out of bed and ran out the door. An ever fading trail of smoke and the distinct smell of rotting eggs drafted downwind from Quirrel’s house.

 _BANG!_ A second shot, this time she saw the rocket of fire exit coming from Quirrel’s backyard.

She had expected to see a lot of things. Hornet looking disappointingly at the unloaded pistol was not one of them.

She was in his backyard, which wasn’t much more than empty land. They had never bothered to set up any fences or grass as the idea of land ownership was a loose concept here. _Well, until now_ , she thought briefly.

Laughter came from inside the house followed by the door swinging open. Quirrel came out, a bottle of brandy in one hand, two glasses in the other, and a large smile on his face.

“Damn, you know, at least with a bow and arrow I can see what I’m doing wrong.” Hornet said, the words were as expected but her tone was new. It sounded like she was having fun, which wasn’t a word Iselda associated with Hornet.

“Here take this, it’ll help.” Quirrel responded, still chuckling. He held out a glass of brandy.

“How will this help my aim?” Hornet asked, taking the glass.

“Who said anything about helping your aim?”

“Fair enough.” The two clinked glasses drank their contents.

Iselda could only look on, speechless. So taken aback that she barely noticed the cast around Hornet’s arm. It wasn’t until a second voice came from behind her.

“Christ what are you doing back here, rile up everyone in the goddamn town!” Tiso came from out from behind her, limping ahead.

“Nice to see you too Tiso.” Quirrel responded.

It was always surprising to see Tiso as he was always in a state of being wounded in bed or running off to the colosseum never to return.

Quirrel waved generally to a set of empty bottles a few meters away. “I’m teaching Hornet to shoot.” He took a glance at the bottles, all of which were still standing. “Or, aim, maybe.”

He turned his attention to Iselda. “Iselda, pleasure as always. What brings you two to my backyard? You know…” He looked back at Hornet who was currently trying to correctly alline the hammer with the pan, which was rather hard to do with only one arm in a cast. “Apart from the obvious.”

Iselda was about to say her piece but Tiso beat her to it. “Has all that rainwater got to your head or have you not been living in the same town as us? We’ve got a proper town now, with other bugs and all that.” He said.

“Oh yeah, no I saw that’s… Good, I guess.” Quirrel said, having paid little to no attention to the state of Dirtmouth for the last 3 weeks. “Didn’t really notice honestly, I was kind of busy. Anyway would you care to join us? I have plenty more bottles that are just sitting around collecting dust.”

“No, don't do that. You don't do that in these sorts of situations. Like when bugs come over to scold you for discharging weapons in their town.” Tiso said.

“Oi, who died and put you in charge, oh wait, no one cause I’d be the first one to know about it. It’s kind of, like, my job. And if anyone is in charge, which I assume is you.” Quirrel gestured to Iselda before beginning to pour another round. “Then it should be noted I am on my own property whether it be actually mine or the medical pavilion, as we are the only present medics in the known area, it would give us jurisdiction over any such establishments.” Quirrel finished before downing his glass. “Or something like that…”

“Besides...” Hornet chimed in. Pointing the gun forward at the bottles once more.

“Life’s too short to wait on such matters. Because who knows?” She pulled the trigger and the gun sparked to life, raging out a plume of fire and smoke. A plume of dust shot up behind the bottles.

“Tomorrow we might be cut and dragged up into a ceiling by a shadow monster. It’s best to live in the moment.”

There was a short pause before Tiso spoke.

“What?”

“I suppose that’s fair enough.” Iselda said, walking over and sitting down near the duo. It was in a bug's best interest to not argue with Hornet, especially when she is wielding a firearm. “Not like I have anything to stop you with.”

Tiso grumbled something but limped over next to her and slowly edged his way down to the ground as Quirrel ran inside for more glasses. The sun was just over the horizon at this point, the air seemed to glow with its last rays before its departure.

Iselda looked to Hornet who was, now, for the fourth time reloading her weapon. She had gotten into a rhythm with it now but it was still a struggle with one arm. She hadn’t even noticed the cast before but now it was all she could focus on until curiosity got the better of her.

“Hey, what happened to your arm?”

“Glad you asked, it is daring…” Tiso began lifting up his right arm, it’s entire length bandaged up.

“Not you.” Iselda interrupted. “I could guess what happened to your stupid ass. You got plowed by one of those big knights and got a gravel burn.” 

“He got me just by a millimeter, the refs’ should have called that. It was a foal play. I was dehydrated! Shut up.” He huffed.

“They have refs’ in the colosseum?” Hornet asked, looking back at the two.

“Well if there are, they're not doing their job!”

“If there were referees you’d be kicked out after your forth go.” Iselda said. “Speaking of referees and rules how are you still alive, like I thought the whole point of a colosseum was a last man standing sort of thing.”

Tiso switched from angry to a much more smug demeanor. “I’ll have you know I’m quite popular in the arena. Every time I come out I get my own announcement and everyone cheers for me and laughs at my opponent who will soon be slaughtered.” He said triumphantly.

Hornet and Iselda shared a look but said nothing to the warrior.

“Yeah, my brother fought in that, during the plague, found you on his first outing face down on a shelf underneath it, slaughtered near everything in it.” Hornet said.

Quirrel came back out with two more glasses filled with a golden brown liquid.

“Sorry I don’t have any seats out, I had a whole plan for refurbishing this place but I… Never really got around to it, I’ve been sort of busy.” Quirrel said, handing out the two beverages.

“It’s fine.” Iselda said before turning back to Hornet. “You still haven’t answered my question.” She gestured to Hornet's arm. “Never seen you with so much as a scratch, now you’ve got a broken arm.” She hadn’t really meant to word it like that, you didn’t really talk to Hornet like that. But she wasn’t an idiot, obviously the bug had gone through some changes. The way she talked, her whole demeanor really, had drastically changed since the last time they’d talked.

“Oh that, well I uhhh, fell. Out of a ceiling and I landed on it wrong, it’s not broken, just sprained.” She said, pulling the hammer back. It made a distinct _click_ as it locked into place.

“Oh come on, there has to be more to it than that. Your Hornet, the protector of Hollownest, surly you had some sort of extravagant adventure that led to that.” Tiso remarked.

“Well, you did leave out the part where we chased down a shadow creature through the ceiling.” Quirrel said. “I shot it twice.”

“Exciting day then?” Iselda said.

“There’s never a dull day in the peace corp.” Hornet replied. “Except when there is…” 

“Also did a bit of shopping. Finally made my way into the 18th century.” She began. Pulling her sidearm up to show off. “Got one of these bad boys at the market today. Nearly cost me an arm but it was worth it.” She said, looking out to the untouched glass bottles still taunting her a few meters away. “Hopefully.”

“Give it time, it just takes a bit of practice. That’s all.” Quirrel said, stepping up next to Hornet. “See it’s all in the grip.” She held out the pistol forward and he placed his hand on hers, aiming the pistol at a slight angle and loosening her grip. He said something about recoil but she was finding it very hard to focus on. She pulled the trigger.

_BANG!_

Followed by the shattering of glass as one of the bottles burst into a million little pieces. “In no time you’ll best any swordsman in the land.”

Hornet was a bit flustered, she had been shown up by another worrier. Something inside her sprang to life, for a second she thought it was, perhaps her old self ebbing back in. To try and reclaim her glory stolen by Quirrel. It wasn’t fair that he was so good with a pistol and that he was now better than her, and why’d he have to be so damn _charming_.

_Wait, what?_

No, false alarm. It was just her heart. She was sure it was going to burst out of her chest.

A few hours passed as day turned to night. The party continued to talk about this and that. Hornet had a lot more stories to tell now, which was a nice change of pace. They talked politics, current events, firing guns, and most surprisingly only modestly drinking, till about 9:20.

_BANG!_

The flash was now clear as day considering it was about the only light source left. The town was pretty well illuminated with torch bugs but they could only reach so far. Hornet had been on a role for a while now. But now she was a bit fuzzy. 4 hours of casual drinking might not make one drunk but it’ll damn put someone close.

“Damn, well I think that’s enough a’ this thing.” Hornet said, placing the pistol back in her jacket. “Can’t even see the bottles anymore.”

“You’ll have more targets soon enough. Probably sooner then any of us would like. But hey, now with that you will be able to defeat any enemy that stands in your path. Even the greatest of nail artists will fall to your cannons.” He finished exaggerating outwards.

Tiso gave a snort at that remark, not going unnoticed by Quirrel.

“Oh? Care to interject?”

“Come on now, nothing can beat the sophistication and elegance of a good nail. You talk as if your little fire stick could outmatch even someone who has worked the craft of nail arts their whole life. Your little toy will never come close to the likes of me.” Tiso said.

“Right, I could strap a board with a nail on it to the back of a Grub and they’d probably ‘best you’. Second, I’d have agreed with you at one point in my life if I hadn’t seen them in action myself. You ever wonder why you don’t see any of the great knights anymore? Even after the plague? I mean they of all bugs should have survived, or well, survived longer.” Quirrel said. As he spoke he seemed to pay less attention to Tiso and more time lost in his own thoughts. “When the infection stopped they tried to restore order. They set up food drives, housing, they even set up a makeshift hospital in the middle of the city. What they didn’t realise was the resentment bugs had towards the king. The, ah, knights tried to return the monarchy. Said there was still one to inherit the throne the Queen's Garden or something.” He continued, taking a short glance back over to Hornet who met his gaze. “They never did find the heir. Groups were sent out but never came back.” He stopped for a moment, now fully lost in his own memories.

His smile had disappeared and his demeanor had changed from spry and upbeat to something far more melancholy. She was so used to seeing him in his usual charming and perhaps eccentric look she had forgotten he used to be so pessimistic. Before they had started working together.

He snapped back into his normal self as Tiso interrupted.

“Alright, but what does that have to do…” Tiso started.

“Hold on, now, I’m not finished.” Quirrel interrupted. He took his glass of brandy of which he had been idly twirling in his hand for the last two minutes and finished it before pouring another. He handed the bottle off to Hornet, as if expecting her to pour herself a glass. She gave him, what could only be described as a, ‘are you serious face’ as he turned around, realizing his mistake.

“Oh yeah, one arm…” He said. Picking up her glass off the ground and pouring hers before reaching back down to get his. Now everything was set.

“Right, right, where was I?” Quirrel said. Walking over to Iselda and Tiso.

“You were going on about the knights or somethin’.” Iselda said, as Quirrel handed off the bottle to her. None of them were in the City of Tears during it’s rebirth and, apparently, it's rebellion. Quirrel, Lemm, and Chornifer were the only ones there at the time. She would often ask her husband what had happened there but he’d always say he didn’t want to talk about it or that nothing of importance and would get very quiet for the next few hours. Quirrel was much the same way. He didn’t often talk about it or when he did it was little tidbits. The only way she’d ever know was if she got one of them drunk enough.

“Yeah right, well what many of the knights had forgotten was the old armory. See during the old Kingdom of Hollownest the old pale king getting concerned with the growing popularity of firearms. The end of Feudalism in most of Europe and the growing Ottoman threat he closed down the kingdom. Sometime around the fall of Constantinople and the collapse of the Georgian Empire in the mid-15th century though the books are a bit fuzzy on it. It went well for a solid 250 years. Then the plague started and ravaged the kingdom, though it did keep out the Russians. We don’t know exactly when he ordered a metric ton of firearms and cannons but it can’t have been very long before the final collapse. Probably after the vessel program failed, as a sort of last resort. They were stored in armories all across the City of Tears, they were meant to be given out to the guards and kept away from the public. With that kind of firepower it could incite a revolt.” He, once again, stopped a moment. Reconfiguring his brain away from that long tangent of exposition back to the story.

“Yes, oh, but… Yeah, the knights. No one knew about these storages until one of the roads collapsed, leading to one of the armories…” He thought for a moment before looking up at Tiso.

“You know, the thing about muskets is, any old bloke can use it. You don’t need hundreds of hours and a lifetime of dedication. If you can load it, you can use it. The knights kept to the idea of honor, chivalry and all that. And a gun can cut through armor like butter. So…” He sort of turned back to reminiscing, not looking at anyone in particular.

“When the knights said they would bring back the old monarchy the bugs protested. The old knights put down the protests with force. Slaughtered all who opposed them. So, the bugs revolted, or well, most of them did. A good chunk stuck with the old monarchy. They didn’t use guns. Thought it was dishonorable and that a true knight would win on vigor and skill alone.” He paused.

“They were slaughtered.” It seemed like he was about to end the story there, avoiding details. He downed his glass and clasped his hand out, gesturing to give him the bottle. Iselda handed him the bottle. He took it and took 3 heavy gulps straight from the source. His face contorted for a second in a cringe before he shook his head.

“Geez Quirrel, don’t kill yourself, you don’ have to…” Hornet began.

“No, no.” Quirrel interrupted, he swayed a little as he recovered. “This is important. It’s important to say, it’s important to hear… ts’ important to me.” He said. He cleared his throat and continued.

“I remember it. Sort of. I knew it was coming, I knew about the bugs secret underground army. I knew about the stockpiles, the generals, and even battle plans… I knew, I knew because, well…” He paused a second.

“I taught em’ how to use it. The muskets, cannons, it started with me.” He said. He had gotten some modesty back with his glass back in his hand, with the aim of refilling it but once he had the bottle he was quite surprised to see no liquid spill into his glass. As it turns out it was empty.

“Hey, one of you lot, go get another bottle.”

“You sure about that? I think if I drink any more I’ll be over the point of no return.” Tiso said, staring at his own empty cup.

“Well, I’m not finishing my story till someone does, and if you can’t remember tonight… Tomorrow. That sounds like a win for everyone.” Quirrel said, chuckling a bit.

“Fine, fine. I’ll get it.” Iselda grumbled as she stood up and walked inside.

“Bbbffff… I need to sit down.” Quirrel said, taking a seat on the soft grass.

Strangely enough, the landscape for the longest time had been barren and uninhabitable. But in the last few weeks grass had started to grow again. Flowers blossomed and the Elder bug had even planted a tree.

The lights never worked all that well, they should really switch out the luminous bugs for some proper fire lanterns. Though they did create very little light pollution. The sky was bright with stars.

Iselda came back out with another bottle and plopped herself back down next to Tiso. She poured Quirrel his drink. He gave a small thanks before drinking it, then he turned back to Iselda.

“Cornifer was there too….” Quirrel started. “I… I, he helped find the other hidden armouries, and got us the maps of the city. He had all the best hiding places for em’ too. I don’t think I ever properly thanked him for that. He just about saved our little revolution. Tswhy he won’t talk to me anymore.”

The last comment caught Iselda off guard. “Won’t talk, why?”

“Hmmm? Oh.” Quirrel said. “He didn’t… He couldn’t pull the trigger. I did.”

Of course this raised more questions than it answered but she kept quiet. “Anyway, they waited till they called a formal meeting about the future of the ‘kingdom’ that had yet to be made. This was all within’... The first week it ended too. It was all sort of, surreal. They gathered outside and just started shooting, or at least that’s what I heard. I wasn’t in the assault. I tried to… To help the dying that came in. Society broke down and split along ideological lines. Lots of death and dying. It’s amazing I came out of that in one piece. It’s all just a bad dream now.” Quirrel finished.

Silence overcame the group. A sort of somber silence both for the dead's sake, and Quirrel’s.

“For a while I was pretty shaken up on it but I feel a lot better now. These days I mean. Hey…” He raised his glass up. “How about a toast, there’s no fixing our past, no making amends with the dead. All we can hope to do is make a better future.” The rest raised their glasses as well and pushed them together, making a satisfying * _clink*_. And they drank under the night sky.

They sat around and talked a bit longer. Their spirits lifted and his story was forgotten, at least for a short while. Eventually Iselda and Tiso had to leave. They waved goodbye as they stumbled out, leaving Hornet and Quirrel alone. He sat on the grass staring upwards while she stood by and watched the two leave, not that she’d be much help getting them home in this state.

“Beautiful out tonight, isn’t it?” Quirrel said.

Hornet looked over to Quirrel then up at the stars. It was indeed beautiful out. She had spent most of her life underground, in the darkest reaches of the earth. These days she rarely got around to even looking around Dirtmouth. Sleep usually took priority.

The sky was dotted with thousands of tiny, shining stars. And one big sort of white cloud way out in the sky, like spilled milk. The moon was small and rather far away, which stood in stark contrast to the black void surrounding the town in night compared to the bright, gleaming sky.

She didn’t respond to this question, instead she walked over and sat down next to him. Much closer than usual, their bodies were nearly touching. Quirrel didn’t move, eyes still fixated on the sky.

“I like to think I moved on, from the past I mean. Let go.” Quirrel said, his speech before had been slurred quite a bit, but now he sounded sober as ever.

Hornet said nothing, she just wanted to be here in this moment for a while.

“I’m not so sure anymore...” He paused for a few seconds.

“I don’t get to remember my parents, or my early friends, my teachings. It’s all just a blur…” Another pause. “I lost Monomon and… I lost everything.”

The stars seemed to go on for miles. An endless blanket nothing, yet filled to the brim with everything. She had never thought of it like that.

“It’s been so long I barely remember who I was, like a ghost of a bygone era. That’s what I am. I don’t really belong here, I simply observe the dead and from their bones I build my home.”

Hornet had a hard time following. This was all so surreal. Her head felt heavy, like her mind was laying bricks down or maybe gravity was having a mood swing. Her head fell on Quirrel’s shoulder. He tensed up for a second but it passed. Strange, you can’t lay on a ghost.

“Do you suppose there’s a place for us?”

Maybe. Though she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be.

There was a short pause. He leaned his head over onto Hornets. Both still staring upwards.

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

The gears in her head had turned enough for her to form an answer.

“It doesn’t really matter. All this shit about old and new kingdoms. Bygone eras, it’s all so tiresome. If you were so tired of it all you’d be 12 feet under a lake by now..” Hornet said. It was Quirrel’s turn to remain silent. 

“But you hung on. You know why? Because you adapted. If I had kept up the charade of running about as a ‘protector of Hollownest’ I’d be plucked from this earth within’ a year against those guns. But, I adapted. At our core we are defined by our actions. If that’s true and your actions definitely change, are you the same bug?” She paused a second.

“I could go on and on about the philosophical debate but in the end it doesn’t matter. I think there’s a place for us.”

lifting her head off of Quirrel’s shoulder and he lifted his and turned to her.

She met his gaze as they sat there, for just a moment.

“It’s right here. Right now.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that but she meant it all the same. She didn’t notice it at first, that his face was getting closer. She only noticed when she felt her own follow suit. Some omnipotent force compelled her forward.

And they kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I finally got a chapter out, Jesus. I pretty much always say this but sorry this took so long and that it's not all that long. This is, more or less, used to just get some exposition out and get the ball rolling with Hornet and Quirrel.
> 
> Also I finished this in a night so It will probably be a bit rough around the edges. I promise I'll come back through and fix it up at some point I just wanted to get something out.
> 
> And if you liked it, or hated it, leave a comment, I do love feedback and I'll actually try and respond to everyone this time.


	6. A Nice Spot To Spend The Rest Of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is well that war is so terrible — lest we should grow too fond of it." - Robert E. Lee's Comment to James Longstreet, on seeing a Union charge repelled in the Battle of Fredericksburg (13 December 1862)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is rough but I want to get the plot moving to where it needs to go. I know how this thing ends I just have to get there and goddammit I'm gonna even if I have to run through a brick wall.

Love was never something Hornet ever imagined stumbling into in any sense. Any sort of hope was cut off when 90% of everyone she had ever known died. Not that she had the best prospects before then. At best she would have been a diplomatic tool to solidify alliances. A royal marriage as you would put it and looking at her track record you would be hard pressed to find any bug who would have thought that was a good idea.

But in the end we all feel the need for love, to be held close by someone both physically and mentally. And Hornet was no exception. There was a time when she fantasized about such, memories long buried below an old burning castle. Most of which were filled with the extravagant escapades of princes once spilled from the pages. That book she kept hidden beneath her bed frame. She never did tell anyone about them and before she really understood what was happening they were obsolete.

 _I’d have liked to have read it again._ Hornet thought.

They were lost to her the same day everyone fell to the disease. Not immediately but everything was normal for a long time, then one day she looked around and everything had changed.

Everything became so bleak, covered in a thick dark cloud of which she could never again find her way out of. She could never find those books in the clouds. Not that she had ever properly looked.

_Did I?_

There was no castle anymore. No palace. Just old foundation and some abandoned armour. It was better that way, with nothing left to hold onto. Except for those books.

_Maybe I didn’t look hard enough…_

The world grew empty after that. That’s all she can really remember after the fall, the vast emptiness. The ever present scuttling of bugs still echoed through the caverns yet the cities and town had never been so quiet. It was a living hell.

_No, it wasn’t living._

In the blink of an eye 20 years came and went. And through it all she had nothing. In truth that should have been the end of her. She should have faded away with the kingdom's last dying breath. But she didn’t, instead she found her way to the dreary town of Dirtmouth.

She met all the inhabitants and they all met her. And they had little to say to one another not that she would know what to do if someone did talk to her, so no one did. And she was like a ghost.

_Whatever did happen with Bretta and the prince…_

Her head felt dizzy, so many bugs and places, yet very little. There wasn't a lot left to remember. As much as she tried, her mind still wondered. Even though she could see it still, out of the corner of her

Her brothers, or half-brothers. It was a bit confusing. They had always supported her, even when she would want nothing to do with them. They were always so busy now, working on the vessels trapped in the Abyss. They’d never talk about it in front of her. She hadn’t properly seen either of them since.

_Wish I’d said something. I never even said goodbye._

A part of her just wanted to wallow in this but her subconscious had other ideas and her mind turned to someone else. There wasn’t much time left.

______________________________________________________________________

Her legs felt as if they’d buckle any second. It had been a hectic day of running around. Fighting had broken out between the Marxs and the fascists down the way. A small skirmish turned into a full on firefight.

Of course they had to start hostile relations the day she had a date. Well a proper date, that is. They had “gone out” a few times before but it mostly consisted of hanging around and doing what they usually did after work. Quirrel had reserved a spot at the ‘Republic Skyline’. A fancy restaurant overlooking the city. Not as high as, say, Monomons old room, but then it was about as high as they could get without needing to compensate for structural damage.

“You know, we don’t have to go.” Quirrel said, walking beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “It’s been a hell of a day, no point in going to a nice place if you’re miserable while you go.”

“No! I mean no.” Hornet had changed a lot in the past few months but it seems her stubbornness had not. “I’ve been waiting two weeks for this. A couple of scratches and stiff joints aren’t going to stop us.”

The plan was originally to head home and change into more appropriate clothing then come back but they couldn’t be bothered at this point. A short rest just seemed like the better option.

That being said walking up to the well-dressed receptionist and past the high class bugs was rather uneasy. Work clothing was a sort of sacred thing, as in making new uniforms was too expensive so you had to stick with what you got. Even with diligent care and constant washes her work jacket was a wreck. Covered in various faded stains ranging from blobs of mud and dust to blood and viscera.

It tended to draw the eye of those around them. But they didn’t pay much attention to that, they were awestruck by the decor.

There was a sense in Hollownest that it would never truly be brought back. Every home or shop they entered, no matter how many coats of paint or new wall furnishings were placed, the old rot would seep through in some way or another. A constant reminder of what was lost.

The restaurant stood in complete contrast to that. The walls were covered in a beautiful yellow cover with long, streaming silver vine decals going down them. The dining area was spread all around the outside, lined up next to large glass panels overlooking the city. Each panel was separated by dark wooden columns, engraved vines crawling up its base and arching over each window.

They were seated near the back where you could see outwards. Hornet had seen a lot, between the infection and working for the corps, she had seen hundreds of dead, rotting corpses. Who would have thought the the most sickening thing she’d ever see were the price tags on a menu. Quirrel waved it off.

“Don’t worry about it, I got it, just enjoy yourself. You look like you’re bout’ to pass a kidney stone.”

“Yeah, well if I do maybe they’ll give me a discount for damages. This is more than we make in 3 months. How are you paying for this?” Hornet asked.

“It pays to work for a hospital, or actually no it doesn’t, it pays to be in charge of going into deceased bugs' homes while working for a hospital.”

“So grave robbing.”

“It’s not grave robbing if there’s no grave and they aren’t buried. Besides, it’s not like I take any physical money. I just scavenge old antiques and deliver it to preservationists and archeologists who want to discover the history of this place. Then they give me a sizable donation for my work.”

Hornet couldn’t hold in her chuckle. This eased her off a bit, no kidney stones would be passed today at least.

“Fair enough. It’s not like we’re the apotheosis of morality anyway.”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I doubt we’ll ever see someplace as nice as this again…”

They ordered wine because, well, this seemed like the type of place to do so. The food came and quickly went. Hornet was surprised by the portioning. “I mean I know food is harder to come by these days but I thought a place as swanky as this would have some reserved.”

The walk back was far more enjoyable than the walk there. Maybe it was the company, maybe it was the delicious foreign food she’d tasted, or maybe she drank just a little too much wine.

“Overpriced piss water is what it is.” Was Quirrel’s output on the subject. “They took something great… Grapes and said ‘hey, what if it was a liquid and disgusting and cost ten times more than any other liquid on this planet’!” Quirrel rambled on.

She would have added her own take if she wasn’t in near tears from laughing. It was funny seeing Quirrel genuinely angry at distilled grapes.

The rain was always a bother. You’d think that after 3 months of being in a place with constant rain she would get used to it but it was always uncomfortable. It just irritated her. But not now.

They made their way down to kings station, swaying a little, arms locked together and only slightly drenched. The skag ride acted as a sort of giant “blow dryer” as she called it.

By the time they got home it was almost 11 by the time they reached Quirrel’s house, surprisingly early. She didn’t want the night to end so soon. Well, she sort of knew what she wanted at this point she just had no idea how to go about getting it. And even then she didn’t really know anything about ‘doing it’. But for some reason Quirrel just seemed... Intoxicating.

“Well, I had a lot of fun. I’d call this date a mild success.” Quirrel said. Dragging Hornet back into reality

“Yeah, it was really great.” Hornet said, her fantasies seemingly petering out due mostly to her own social ineptitude. But in its place came a new thought. “That place was unbelievable. I’d say it almost looked better then the palace, not that I remember much… Anyway, a place like that must have cost you half a fortune. I thought you might have been saving up to get away from this place. Find some new fancy home out west.” She hadn’t meant to sound unthankful when the sentences were being formed in her head; it was only when they all came out did she realise this.

Before she could say anything Quirrel chimed in.

“For a while I was, sort of. It really just made me more miserable though, to be honest. I was sort of stuck here. To many memories, both lost and found, to just move on. I wouldn’t be able to function correctly. To lose everything a third time just seemed, tiring, and inane. Then I found someone worth all the traveling in the world. Someone worth spending the accumulated wealth on. Someone I just want to see happy.”

Hornet felt herself blush furiously, it didn’t help he had leaned in a bit. Their faces were only a few inches away from each other.

“Quirrel I’ve seen you literally eat out of a trash can before. What are you going to do without any money for the next few weeks?” Hornet asked, only stumbling over her words a little bit. She didn’t like how smooth Quirrel was and how nervous she was, though if she was paying more attention she’d have noticed the distinct twitch of his arm and leg.

“When I said I like to live in the moment I meant it. Yeah so maybe I’ll be short a few days, it’s worth it to just live it up for a day. To have these great moments to share. To have these experiences with you, makes it all worth it.” Quirrel said, taking a short pause and leaning back to a normal standing position (much to Hornets dismay).

“The days are getting shorter, and I feel like they’re getting darker. I thought a lot about what you said to me, about ‘if we’ll make it’, and I’m not too sure. There’s a reason the Peace Corp stays so small, it’s not because there’s no bugs to fill 'em’, it’s cause we lose most of them. I just… I just want our time to be special. Because we might not make it to tomorrow.” Quirrel finished. He looked a bit flushed on realising what he’d said, possibly more than he had meant to say, or maybe he realised he had just killed the mood completely.

“Well aren't you just a barrel of fun.” Hornet teased. “I get it, you know, I really do. But frankly, if you look at our track record we’ve survived apocalypses brought on by gods, civil war and everything in between. If anyone can make it, it’s going to be us. You just have to have faith in the future.” Hornet said.

“All things aside I still had a lovely night. It was almost perfect if only we had the time to change out of these grubby outfits.” She said, pulling on her jacket collar. She had almost forgotten she was still wearing it. It probably reeked at this point. Quirrel didn’t move for a second, it seemed as if his mind was firing at a thousand miles an hour trying to salvage this. Then it hit him.

“Well, hey, if you. I don’t know, wanna get cleaned up my, ah, shower is open… And, and a change of clothes. For you… To use… If you want.” Quirrel said, honestly it had sounded a lot better in his head.

“I live right over there, you know?” She said pointing back at her house. In truth she was on board and quite giddy to enter but this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Well, uhh, why do over there what you could do right here?”

Hornet blinked for a second, she had set up a flurry of witty remarks for many situations but she wasn’t ready for that one.

“I suppose there’s a kind of logic to that.” She said turning and opening the door. “Also if you wanted me to come in you could have just asked.” She said, ending with a wink before fully entering the abode. She was pretty sure that’s how you flirt. As she walked in she could have sworn she heard a quiet “yes” before Quirrel followed her inside.

Quirrel showered first, taking no more than 5 minutes before coming back out and slowly making his way to his cabinet, only stumbling a little bit on the way there. Hornet cleaned soaked herself in the warm water of the gods. She wasn’t entirely sure how Quirrel was able to get hot water up here but she wasn’t about to complain. When she came back out, with a towel wrapped around her body, Quirrel was sat on the couch mumbling something to himself. When the bathroom door opened he looked back and froze for a second. As if time itself froze for a few seconds to allow him to take in the sight. Of course he returned to his normal demeanor, his eyes returning to Hornets and saying some witty thing she couldn’t quite remember, not that it mattered. Hornet could admit to not knowing fully the art of procreating with a mate, or rather seduction as it was called, so she went with the flow, and dropped the towel. Any quip or real thought Quirrel had died right then and there as he could do little more than stare as she made her way to his bedroom, emphasising each and every sway of her body...

* * *

 _That’s it?_ She thought. As her memory fizzled out.

Granted it was a nice memory, perhaps a bit falic for a best, not that she could argue. She just assumed that maybe something would reach through the mold. Something with her mother. An embrace maybe. A game with her friends. It all passed so quick and she had nothing.

_It’s so close…_

Her eyes could only stare out the side of her head. The black ball was nearly on the ground now. Her whole body refused to move. Time was too slow to make any real change.

Her whole life boiled down to an evening getaway.

_It’s just…_

_Do you think we’ll make it?_ Those words echoed through her skull. The ball was now just centimeters away from the ground. A few milliseconds away from annihilation.

_It’s not fair…_

Those were her last thoughts before she heard a loud _CRACK!_ Then blinding white light. Then there was nothing…

_If anyone can make it, it’s going to be us_

* * *

Quirrel felt a terrible lurch in his chest, something was definitely wrong. He looked up and around his current position. The haze of smoke blocked his vision as he scanned the street. A shaking, bloody hand was raised into his field of vision bringing his attention back down.

The sentry had several holes dotting his shell, blood cascading down from every corner. He held his arm out to Quirrel, trying to mouth something but all that came out was spurts of blood. _He’s a lost cause…_

Quirrel stood up without saying anything and entered a nearby alleyway. Even after having spent so much time in this city the fog of war made it impossible to navigate. The smoke invaded every nook and cranny and the very air seemed to wobble with the endless crack of gunfire coming from all sides.

It was pure chaos. He followed the only discernible sound he could make out, the sound of mortar fire.

A figure staggered down the opposite side of the alleyway, fissibly confused and disoriented. He looked like an average citizen save for the tan armband and a large musket in hand. Any plan the bug might have had was dropped when he saw Quirrel, he quickly jutted his gun but Quirrel was quicker. He pulled out his own pistol and fired. The shot wrange out in the confined space, in that same moment the bullet passed straight through the bug's eye socket. Splattering any memories of friends and family on the rocky pavement below.

Quirrel paid him little mind, whether the bug had any actual intention of hurting him wasn’t important, that feeling was growing stronger by the minute.

It’s hard to explain but he felt a sort of pull as he moved from alley to alley, like an omnipotent force drove him forward. Past the streets of bodies, blood flowing and polluting the streams and drainage a dark red. There were many cries of the dying, yelling out to the void. That’s what he was here for, or should have been. Not like there was anyone around who would see.

Finally his path led to an open area of the city. It wasn’t always like this, this was an entire block of buildings but the artillery had done its work. The already weakened structures in no man’s land were no match against the flying balls. The few remain buildings, if you could call them that, were aflame. The black smoke complemented the grey beautifully.

Bodies were strewn around all over the place. Though unlike the other streets these bugs were nearly unrecognisable. Most were barely a torse, the lucky ones left behind a full half body to take home. Covered in long gashes from shrapnel. But worst of all not a single heartbeat. No movement. A graveyard. Well except for the occasional scattered shot that would hit a body, causing a ploom of blood to spurt out or the occasional explosion that sent loose parts, usually body parts, across the way.

He had wasted so much time already. _What am I doing here?_ He thought. He didn’t know why but his aching inside of him grew stronger by the second. Almost like he wanted to hurl. That is until something caught his eye. Across the way, near the middle of the graveyard, he could barely make out two horns jutting out. Horns that looked all too familiar.

He slowly walked out into the open, each step forced forward as every part of him yelled for him to turn around. The scattered shots were now a lot closer now. Flying past him as he meticulously made his way through the corpses.

He paid little mind to them, both to the bullets and the corpses, his whole being was focused on those two short horns just ahead of him and everything they could be. Deep down he knew who it was, but he couldn’t bear to think like that, the thought simply seemed impossible to him. He hoped he never reached them, that he would simply walk through the smoke forever, his goal always just out of reach.

Of course he did eventually reach the spot. There were two small craters, Hornet layed on the side of one. Her jacket and face were covered in a mix of soot and blood. Her body looked broken, mangled and cut. There was a steady stream of blood, pooling in the middle of the crater, where her left arm used to be. He stood there for a few seconds, just staring. The bullets continued to fly by him, making a loud whistling noise as they went by. Maybe he was just waiting for one to hit him. That is until his vacant staring picked up something. The slow rise and fall of her chest. She was still breathing.

His body went into autopilot, practically jumping over to her. There was no time to think, for Quirrel this was it. If she died he was done for. He’d disappear, like a ghost.

_I can do this._

_I can fix you._

_I promise..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this chapter took me a whole ass month to make. Sounds reasonable. Honestly, I'm getting a little depressed writing this stuff. I just can't let people (or bugs) be happy I always have to maim or at the very psychologically hurt my characters. I, uh, don't know why.
> 
> I think I'll make a one-off story before I make the next chapter, just to make something simple and happy for a change. I don't know who I'll make it on but it'll be Quirrel and somebody probably. Except for Tiso, I don't know why that ship is so popular all the sudden but it's probably my least favorite, no offense to those who do like it I just don't see it.


	7. Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quirrel lives out another day in the city as he and Nick travel back to the old battlegrounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a side note Ghost is speaking in a Cockney accent, but you'll probably notice with the writing that it's a bit inconsistent with that. On the first write I went full in on the accent but I found it hard to get through and just an annoyance to read so I dumbed it down a bit.

The guns stopped. The smoke had long since cleared. The screams and yells of the damned had long since silenced. And once more an uneasy tension grasped the populous of the City of Tears. It’s easy to say that there would be more unease had they known what was happening beneath their feet.

Below the eroding plumbings, beyond the old ruins of a long-forgotten castle, and underneath her many tracks and tunnels lies a dark dark place. One that, on a first glance, devoid of any sort of life par only the deepest urchins that crawl on this earth. They would be mistaken in their assumption however as below this veil of darkness a small bug of sorts. With a dark blue cloak and a white mask that surrounded his face. Two dark eyes stuck out of the front and two slim horns etched out the top.

One could tell by his demeanor that he was upset, perhaps saddened by something. Maybe he was just tired. What could be safely assumed is that he was waiting for someone. Waiting for something.

 _Offley late today, inhe'?_ Came a voice. Or it wasn't so much of a voice as it was thought, though it did not come from the small bug.

Just a little ways off was a much taller bug. He presented himself in an upright stance as if at attention. His long arms behind his back with his hands clapped in a ball. His mask was much larger, with two large horns coming out of both ends creasing upwards and coming down to a point on his chin.

 _He’ll be here, I promis’._ Ghost responded to his elder sibling, not looking up from the ground he sat on.

 _Hmmmmm…_ A soft hum came from behind him. The small vessel was surrounded by shadowy figures, much the same height and demeanor as the vessel but without proper physicality of Ghost.

 _Shut it Edward no on’ wants a’ hear you fukin’ complain all day. He’ll come._ Ghost said, turning back to the one-horned shadow who glared back at the vessel.

 _It’s not that we think he won’t come._ Said his brother, more commonly called Hollow. _It’s just I dout’ he’l elp us._ He finished, clearing his throat, that manner of speaking was always so uncivilized.

 _Eh’ owes me. I defeated the gods, I tought em’ to speak, I deserve some bloody compensation._ He said, still sitting on the small rock overlooking the endless ocean of black that surrounded most of the Abyss.

Hollow didn’t move or make much of any judgment on Ghost’s behalf and instead just stared outward. It was hard to tell if he was sad, or worried, or angry. He was very good at hiding his emotions much to Ghost's contempt. Their siblings didn’t add much either. They had a lot to learn about social norms but it was a sort of ingrained understanding that when one’s sister was near death it was better to leave things unsaid.

So they waited. And waited. And waited. It was impossible to tell the passage of time down in that dark hole. It could have been minutes, hours, days. It didn’t matter. Ghost didn’t really know what else to do but wait.

 _Ghost…_ Hollow began before being immediately interrupted.

 _Shut up, shut up, shut. Chist will every on’ just shut the fuck up? E’ll’ be here, e’ll’ fix this, and we’ll all be done fore’a nights out, yeah? Not like you cunts got anyhtin’ better a’do._ Ghost nearly shouted. He was about at wits end, no one seemed to understand that this was all they had left. 18th-century medicine could only go so far.

_I know e’ll’ come, eh as to. Cause I deserve ta’ be happy, jus’ a li''le. We can’t al’ jus’ be dandy all the time. But it feels like me entire liefs’ been nothin’ but pain an’ misery. All I want’ a do is live in fukin peace but everyon’s gone mad._

The tall bug didn’t have much to say to that, what could he say? Everything was a mess right now. Ghost’s whole life had shifted quite drastically in the last few days. Now he was surrounded by new bugs in his home. Technology had surpassed anything he could remember. They knew how void acted when it was sliced and cut. Explosives, led balls and shrapnel were different somehow. They didn’t heal in the same way cut wounds did. And Hornet was more bug than void regardless. Usually, he’d have Quirrel to help but… Quirrel wasn’t present at the moment. He was there sure, at her side physically but mentally he was somewhere else.

 _Come on now, what do you think he would even do?_ Hollow asked,

 _Well I dont’ riet’ know eys’ the bloody lord of shades inhe’. A god fou fuc’ sake he could do anythin’._ Ghost responded, his voice only wavering a little. _Ey’s been a bit cryptic lately, o’ll admit-it. Dont’ mean e’ll be useless. So, we wait._

Hollow stared at the small bug for a few seconds before turning his head towards the seemingly endless black lake. 

_And so we wait…_

* * *

Quirrel had been quiet for most of the trip, as he usually was. Not that there was ever much to speak about anymore. Work went on as usual, they searched for dead bugs and marked them. Only now it was without the usual quips and humor that Quirrel would often add. Nick had never realized how much it lightened the mood, he had only ever thought it crude and in poor taste. But the lack of humorous remarks made the whole ordeal sickening. That is until he got an idea to give Quirrel a little kick in the right direction.

“Would you look at this.” Nick said, pulling a pocket watch out of the coat of a long-dead aristocrat. It was gold plated and still shimmered in the damp light. “Might just hold onto this one, not like he’ll be needing it…” He said, holding the watch up to his companion. He was acuity aware of the hypocrisy in his action, in fact, he was counting on it. Nothing set the pill bug off more than hypocrisy.

Quirrel stared at Nick for a few seconds. There was no emotion in his gaze, no contempt, anger, sadness, or even confusion. Just a blank stare. It was like Quirrel had been hollowed out, he was a husk of his former self. Nicholas never thought he’d regret losing Quirrel, but now he’d give just about anything to hear him make some remark about death or grave robbery.

As for his plan, he immediately felt guilty for what he had tried to pull. Attempting to force emotion into someone who had just lost a loved one was a rather low blow.

“I’m, I’m sorry…” Nick said, putting the watch back in the decrepit bugs waistcoat. Quirrel said nothing and continued on. Before he did he got a good look at the time, 10:35. It had only been around 2 hours since they started.

He let out a long _sigh_ , it was going to be a long day.

He was unfortunately mistaken as they made their way to an open plane a bustle with bugs. They had traveled a few kilometers to get here and were now, technically in Marxist territory, he stalled at the border for a second. Quirrel turned to him in a questioning motion or as much of one as the emotionless bug could muster.

“I, uhhh, I can’t go any farther…” Nick said, obviously avoiding an explanation but he knew Quirrel better than to let a mystery go unsolved, even subconsciously. Quirrel presented his question with his usual methodical stare.

“I didn’t… Join my, comrades in the assault. I wanted to help bugs, not kill them, so instead, I helped out patching the wounded with the… The corps. Now, I’ve been excommunicated by my… By the party, and my family.” He finished, his voice cracking a little. It was still hard to process for him, it was unreal, his mind simply rejected the idea. But the fact that for the last week he’d been sleeping under a bridge in no man’s land stood in stark contrast to these delusions. Now that he had to say it out loud to someone it sounded too real. He felt his arms start to shake and a sort of… Emotion boiling up inside that threatened to burst forward.

“Come on, we have a job to do.” Quirrel said in a low voice. Turning back towards the battleground. Nick stood back a second, a bit flabbergasted, but he quickly regained his posture and headed forward.

Quirrel was right, in a sense. If you focused on your job you didn’t have to think about the world crashing around you. It’s not like he had really been paying attention to it all that much for the past seven days, time sort of melded together at this point.

* * *

The Fascists had been torn down, struck down by a coalition between the Marxists and the Republicans. A week ago the thought would have been absurd to any bug but as much as the two hated each other, it turns out they hated Fascists just a little bit more.

The two bugs came out of a small back alley into a long stretch of land that once acted as a buffer zone between the Marxists and the Fascists, now it was a barren landscape scattered with craters and debris. This part of the city had mainly been small shops and old housing when the city was still a city. Most of the buildings lay in rubble, completely obliterated by the oncoming shells. What few structures remained could barely be described as a building. A soft fog was ever-present over the landscape, clouding the rubble behind dark blobs of smoke. At the height of the fighting blood and gore was strewn around the field, covering most of the ground in a dark, sticky matter. The constant rain of the City of Tears was often a nuisance but it did do a fine job of cleaning up the streets.

The battle had been about a week ago and yet the battlegrounds were relatively clear. A few corpses still littered the ground here and there. Rot had begun to overtake them already, only being exacerbated by the constant rainwater showering them and bloating them. Most were barely recognizable and so were left to their fate. That’s where they came in. As if they could do anything to figure it out. Most of these bugs could be processed under “exploded or shot” and there wasn’t much left in between.

The track was eerily quiet save for the loud crunch of a shovel entering the ground. A few meters away stood two bugs. Both had the general appearance of a sentry bug except for the mask which was a much simpler civilian mask and a kettle helm. Both wore a red armband with a small yellow Hollownest insignia. Both looked to be rather young, couldn’t be over that far over 20 years old.

Nick froze in place. The battlefield was devoid of any bugs except for the two and they terrified him. It wasn’t his own mortality he feared for, death was something he’d seen and pondered so often it had almost numbed him to the idea. No, he was terrified he’d be confronted with the one fact he didn’t want to think about, the one fact he couldn’t think about.

Quirrel seemed to take little notice of the bugs across the way even though it was quite obvious they noticed them. Quirrel went to the first dismembered corpse and unsurprisingly had very little to say about it, not that Nick was paying much attention to him. He felt a cold sweat running down his spine as he watched the other two bugs out of the corner of his eye. They had stopped digging and were staring straight at them, talking amongst each other. That is until one gave a wave and yelled out to them.

“Hey! You! You lot with the corpse recovery?” Said the first one, the two bugs were near indistinguishable save for the physique of the first one which was a bit plumper than the second. “Only reason anyone’s in the forsaken place, eh?” The bug said rather cheerfully, placing his shovel into the dirt and walking over to the duo. The second was a bit slower to follow. He seemed to be laser-focused on Nick with a look of confused recognition.

Quirrel, still crouched over the corpse, looked up at the bug but made no attempt to respond or make much of any impression. Just a cold stare. The first bug wasn’t put off by this, instead, he seemed to recognize it. “Ah, I see, the old thousand-mile stare. Lotta bugs have it these days.” He paused a second. “Were you lads here that day? I take it you must have been. We all lost somethin’ here.” His eyes drifted off to something else, you’d miss it if you blinked and he was soon back. “Any way you won’t get very far trying to find anyone here, we already got everyone worth a piece back home. The rest were too far gone, to deteriorated and broken. You know I’m sure. If you would like we could quicken the pace by just burying the rest in that crater over there.” He said pointing back to the mound they had been standing on.

All the while the second bug had his eyes on Nick, an ever creeping realization coming over the bug that had gone, surprisingly, under the radar by Nick who had been lulled by the first bugs seemingly cheerful demeanor. That is until the 2nd bug stepped in.

“Hey, I recognize you… From somewhere.” He said slowly, racking his brain for the source of this wave of vertigo. Nick completely froze in place once more. As if he hoped that he might just disappear then and there. “Didn’t you abandon us for those traitorous pigs in the waste?” It seems that his mind finally came to a conclusion. There had been talk of an insubordinate doctor who had gone to help save the Fascists.

The first bug saw the rising tension and tried to say something to his friend but he was too focused on his prey. Nick couldn’t even look up at the bugs face, his mind was having a hard time processing all this. They were both speaking the same language and yet his mind couldn’t really make out the words they were saying. They were all jumbled, banging around inside his head.

“We had special orders if we found you, I think you'd like to hear it...” He said, reaching into his side coat, the but end of a pistol glistening out. Quirrel, who had been sitting near motionless through this whole endeavor. His hand had been in his own holster while crouched, waiting for something to happen.

In one swift motion stood up and pulled out his pistol and pointed directly at the second bug. The bug had very little time to react, all he could muster was a shocked yelp and a surprised expression before hot lead burst forth from Quirrel’s pistol. The bullet entered the bugs chest, rupturing one of his lungs and exited in less than a second, a trail of blood following outwards from his back. The bug gurgled and spat out globs of blood as he desperately tried to breathe. He crumpled to the ground as he drowned in his own blood.

The other bug fell backward in shock before instinct took over and he began to run. His legs slipping and trampling as his body went into fight or flight mode. Quirrel reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second pistol. A dark oak Prussian flintlock. He brought the barrel up and fired.

The bullet ripped through the bug's stomach. The bug’s momentum carried him forward as he smashed into the ground, clenching his chest as blood began to pool out. He slowly walked over the bug, reloading his black pistol as he went. All the while the bug on the ground desperately tried to crawl away. Only stopping when Quirrel was directly over him, his gun now fully loaded and pointed down at him.

“Wait, wait!” Croaked out the bug, one arm up in a feeble last defense, tears rolling down his eyes. “I d-didn’t do anything. I s-swear I wasn’t going to hurt him, or anything! P-please…” He let out a whimper. “I thought you-you were supposed to… To help b-bugs. I…” The bug trailed off as Quirrel cocked the hammer back.

Nick had followed close behind, rather unintentionally, his body went into autopilot as his brain was still trying to catch up. But he could have sworn he heard Quirrel say “I’m sorry” before his gun let out a thunderous crack. The bug clenched forward a second, his whole body spasming before going limp.

“No witnesses, I guess…” Nick said without really thinking. The Peace Corps and the Marxists were already on pretty uneven ground. If they found out that a doctor had shot and killed two soldiers while defending a known “traitor” would do little to ease tensions.

The two spent the next hour picking up the remaining bodies and placing them in the crater. The battlefield was silent and remained undisturbed. Nick could have sworn at one point he had seen a black figure watching from one of the alleyways but quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light. If there was anyone out there they made no attempt to disturb their work.

The work was nice, it was easy and rather mundane, just enough to stop him from thinking about what had just occurred. He just wished it could have gone a bit longer. The hole had been filled in and patted down. They had to place something down for a grave marker though it was hard coming up for something that didn’t have a religion. They settled on a Suppedaneum Cross. Quirrel had told him about it a few weeks ago, some sort of old Byzantine cross or something. Back when Hornet was still around, it’s hard to believe that was only a few weeks ago, nay, a few days really. It felt like years.

The two stood there for a while, not so much admiring their work as just being there in that moment. Then it dawned on Nick.

“I can never go home, can I?” He asked no one in particular. He slumped down on his knees. “Everything I’ve done for the cocksuckers. For nothin’.” He felt himself start to shake again and his eyes blurred behind a growing field of tears. He didn’t feel like crying, he wasn’t so emotionally destroyed by this as he should have been. He just felt. Numb. And yet the tears still leaked out, down his mask and into his stained white jacket.

He didn’t really know why he was so broken up over this. He didn’t have many friends in his home city, and he barely had a family. He never knew his dad, died in the plague, and his mom never really recovered without him. She was a husk of her former self and they grew ever more distant as he trailed away from the government’s party and moved more into the Peace Corps. Really it was inevitable that he’d be thrown out eventually, either that or shot. But it was still his home, where he grew up, pretty much everyone he’d ever known lived there. And now he’d never see them again.

Now, with this little stunt, Quirrel pulled his job was in jeopardy if anyone ever found out, not to mention being complicit with murder.

“I guess I have to live with that now… And I have to get used to living under that bridge for a while now that… All my moneys gone.”

Quirrel said nothing, he simply stared at the three-pronged cross he had made out of old plywood scattered about. He gave Nick a pat on the back before turning around and heading back into the city. Every step felt heavy for Nick, he barely had the motivation to step forward. As he did his mind wandered to the one leading them.

Sure he had lost a lot, but Quirrel, Quirrel had lost practically everything. He didn’t recognize the bug anymore. Nick hadn’t quite hit rock bottom yet, but damn it if he wasn’t just a few ledges away. Quirrel had fallen headfirst in, which brought him one question.

“How do you live with it? I mean, I feel like shit now, but compared to you… How? How do you live with it?” Nick asked, he didn’t quite know how to phrase his question correctly but Quirrel seemed to understand as he stopped dead in his tracks and looked back at Nick.

“I don’t.” Quirrel said, simply before turning to his left and entering a small, long-abandoned building. He came out a few seconds and threw a dusty old bottle his way.

Nick caught it and brushed it off a bit. Looking at the bottle he could make out a clear liquid inside, unfettered from the decay around it.

“It helps.” Quirrel said before continuing forward. Nick said nothing and followed behind.

When they finally reached base camp Quirrel spoke, without turning back to Nick. “Take the rest of the day off, go to the old King’s Station downtown, and ring the bell. Take the stag up to Dirtmouth and speak to Iselda, last house on the left, tell her I sent you, she’ll set you up.” He finished, before Nick could properly say anything Quirrel was already walking away looking over his short clipboard. He had a feeling he’d get no more out of the bug. So he went off to King’s Station with little left to lose.

* * *

The day passed on without much of note, not that he paid much attention anymore. The whole camp could be engulfed in a great explosion and if he were in the middle of pouring he’d miss it. He’d probably welcome it.

Down the same path he’d gone down a hundred times. Past the deteriorating buildings and forgotten streets to the old, seemingly abandoned station. The large stag thundered in and had little to say to the scholar and he had nothing to say to it. The small lights faintly illuminated the path ahead. They flew by at great speed, they were like windows to another plane. His mind was unusually abuzz with this, he didn’t care for it much and found it better to ignore the lights altogether.

He made it to the gloomy station, it was covered in various wood beams and cement from construction. It seems like they were renovating. A small spark of anger flickered behind his eyes, he didn’t entirely know why he had such an emotion, he rarely had those these days. Maybe he didn’t want the structures of the old kingdom to be rebuilt, maybe he didn’t want them to be replaced, maybe he was just mad at everything.

He made his way out of the building and down the main street of Dirtmouth. The town was turning into a proper, well, town now with infrastructure and housing. Perhaps in another life he’d have been quite happy to see such an occurrence, to be able to interact with so many new bugs. The idea didn’t so much disgust him but it definitely didn’t sit well. As he walked he heard a familiar voice call his name, Iselda, he was pretty sure.

Sure enough just a few meters away came the bug, waving out to get his attention. “Quirrel, hey, it’s good I happen to run into you…” She began, Quirrel made little to no effort in the application of communication anymore so it was always a little awkward talking to him. _Not that I blame him_ , she thought.

“I needed to ask you, have you seen Tiso anywhere lately? I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks and his house is empty.” She asked, to her surprise he responded.

“No, I haven’t. Hopefully, he’s finally gone and died in the arena…” She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, his voice was so monotone it was near impossible to say. “Anyway did you get Nicholas settled in?” He asked.

She paused a second, confused. “Who?”

“The young lad I sent up earlier, he didn’t come through?” Quirrel asked.

“No… I, no. I think I’d remember that. But Quirrel I’m serious. First Bretta went missing, now Tiso is gone and no one knows where they are. I’m getting worried. Hell I haven’t seen Lemm in weeks!” She said, hoping for some insight from the bug, but all she got was a shrug. Which, now that she thought about it, was probably more than she was expecting. An awkward silence hung in the air between the two. Iselda knew she wouldn’t get anywhere with the missing person debacle she moved onto the only other question that came to mind.

“How, uh, how are you holding up?” She asked. Quirrel stared for a second, perhaps pondering her words, before answering.

“I feel, with every fabric of my being, as if the universe is set upon making sure I am forever miserable, and everyone I love will leave me behind to rot in this despondent, cruel world.” He said in response. With that he turned around towards his house. Leaving Iselda alone in the street. “Good chat…” She whispered dryly as he walked away.

It was true, _there were less and less familiar faces in Dirtmouth by the day_ , he thought. _Didn’t the Elder bug usually stand here?_ Standing underneath a singular light post, it’s light illuminating the ground around it in a circle next to an old iron bench. It was so hard to pay attention to such matters.

 _Everything’s moving so fast these days, some days I worry I’ll be left behind._ Those words echoed in his subconscious as he slowly made his way back home.

The house was encompassed in total darkness, no lights on inside or out. He had a small hope that one of these days he’d come back and see a light on. That sign of life in the house. That maybe she’d woken up and recovered somehow. Or maybe a murderer would be waiting to cut him to pieces. He could only dream and nice dreams were few and far between these days.

Soft light splashed onto the untouched furniture, messy cupboards, and broken bottle shavings before going out again as the door squeaked closed, and the room was once more engulfed in darkness.

There was a flick, a spark and a hiss as the small flame danced slowly on the match stick. He put the small flame in a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling. The flame slowly grew in the lantern until it was nearly bright enough to light up the whole room.

He drew up to the cupboard, already half-open from last night and stuck his hand in, not too picky on what he picked, if at all. His hand settled on a bottle of Irish Whiskey. He made his way down the hallway towards the guest bedroom, he popped the top of the Whiskey as he went.

Before he entered he took the bottle and drank almost ⅓ of its contents. He staggered a bit and held his chest as he held down the oncoming nausea. When it passed he entered the room. The room was almost completely clean, one would think they had stepped into a completely different house. The room was quite empty save a cabinet with a glass door showing off a plethora of various medical equipment, a large wash bucket full of clean water with some rags, and a bed with a small chair and a nightstand next to it. Above the bed were two emplaced iron chambersticks which he lit with his lantern, these did well to illuminate the room as he puffed out the lantern. Beside the bed was a hook with a red woven dress, it was near pristine, as if it was just waiting for her to put it on. Someday.

The bed was the main focus of the room, placed in the middle of the room, it’s headstand against the west-most wall where the door was, opposite the cupboard. In the bed lay Hornet. Her face showed a few solid scratches left over from the shrapnel. Her torso was covered in bandages, wrapping around her dark frame multiple times, you’d hardly know her color if not for her neck and her sunken, closed eyes. _Thank god it missed her neck,_ he thought. He thought this almost every time he entered the room. It was a damn miracle no shrapnel or explosive ordinance had damaged it when the rest of her body was well torn up. Her right arm had been burned pretty badly as it had shielded her face from the blast. Her left arm was nearly gone, all that was left was a short stub heavily wrapped in bandages.

It was a heavy sight to take in. To see a loved one in such a state, but he couldn’t help it. The way the flames flickers danced and seemed to shake the room, irradiated Hornet’s face, she was still the most beautiful bug he’d ever laid eyes on. It had only been doing this for 7 days yet he had already gotten into a routine. Being in a vegetable state meant you couldn’t perform certain tasks needed to stay healthy, or at least not on your own. He had to take off the bandages, wash them and apply fresh bandages but not before cleaning her whole body and face, carefully as not to open any of the various scars and stitches. He had to feed her, which involved a large bending pipe. This whole process took him well into the night and by the time he was done the Whiskey was all gone. He checked the small gold pocket watch, 12:32, on the mark. He let out a sigh and stood up. The blood didn’t immediately reach his head and he staggered forward, as he did most nights, and ended up on his knees beside the bed, arms both arms out holding his swaying torso.

 _Shouldn’t have done that._ He thought, just as he thought the last 7 days because whenever he did this…

He looked up to see her face, eyes still closed, perhaps never to open again. Her pulse was steady and her vitals looked, well, intact at least. But the surgeons had told him there was only a slim chance of recovery. He knew perfectly well the odds of survival, he’d seen hundreds of bugs get blown to bits, it was never a happy endeavor. It all made him wonder…

 _Why do I bother?_ He felt the bubbling of emotion in his chest, like it was about to spill over him in a great wave. He could feel the tears welling up in the sides of his eyes. He couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to, he’d done this before. He was embraced by the ever crumbling world around him. There were so many different, ever fleeting emotions he had to rummage through but it was impossible. It was like trying to count every tree in a forest or every corpse in a dead city. It made him want to…

 _Sleep._ He just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. To be lost in an endless dream. It was the only time he ever got to see her. Not this husk left behind. They could laugh, talk and dance there. Free from the constraints of this joyless world, it was too monochrome, dark saturated everything.

He stumbled his way into his own room, at some point he had gotten another bottle of something, and was presently drinking it. Might have been booze, or cyanide, he couldn’t focus on the taste so it didn’t very well matter to him as he slumped down into bed, half-conscious. Half alive.

He pulled out the dark cavalry pistol from his coat and brought it beside him. He could only really manage to stare at the ceiling. His mind wandered to this and that, to Monomon’s last message to him, to the smoldering ruins outside Baghdad, to the two bugs he had gunned down earlier. He laid the pistol on the pillow next to him, still in hand, he pulled the hammer back. He felt his heartbeat a little faster. He arched the pistol down toward his temple. His heart was beating much faster now.

He put his finger on the trigger. He barely felt anything, not the cold steel of the barrel or his shaking hand, only the distinct droplet sinking down his cheek. Was it sweat, a tear? Who really knew. Though he could feel the pressure. Both of the world and of his finger on the trigger. It would be over in a second. No more worries, no more death, no more suffering.

Even with this intense pressure his mind was all mucky and couldn’t stay on track. It decided to instead envision a world where Hornet wakes up, and Quirrel doesn’t. Was he to leave her to rot away alone? To be forced to live her final hours stuck in a bed with no one to help, perhaps even unaware that he lay dead in the next room? Now he knew they were tears as his vision began to fade away. The light from the moon became smaller and smaller as his vision coned.

_It’s just, it’s just…_

* * *

He awoke the next morning as he usually did, hungover and with a splitting headache. He got out of bed quick enough for someone in his state and put the pistol back into its pocket in his jacket. He knew what time it was, same as it was last week, 12:32, he didn’t even bother checking the watch anymore.

He checked in on Hornet, who was thankfully still kicking for another day. He did the daily morning routine before making his way to the washroom himself. He washed himself off before going to the sink and taking a handful of water. He splashed it on his face and looked up at himself.

_I gotta ask, if one day you learned you weren’t the person you thought you were..._

He began towards the door, but not before taking a new bottle out of the cupboard and taking a few nice swigs, he left it just outside his door. He’d finish the rest later tonight in bed probably. He exited the homestead, made his way down the newly paved road towards the old stag station.

_And what would you didn’t like that person, what if you couldn’t stand what that person had done, could do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, remember the first chapter when this was supposed to be a dark comedy and not just the universe doing everything in its power to make sure Quirrel is miserable. Yeah, good times. This chapter actually went a bit darker then I was anticipating. The original cut had a much better hook of an ending but decided to split these into two chapters.
> 
> I hit major writer's block trying to make this, which is probably why it took me over a month to make it. But, I finally did it, I got over the hurdle and I know where I want the story to go. So hopefully I'll have it out in a timely manner. Also the story has gotten over 1000 hits recently which is crazy, I can't imagine anyone wanting to read this garbage but I appreciate it none the less.
> 
> Tell me how it's going in the comments, I do write to try and better my craft and it's harder to do so without feedback and I'd love to hear what you guys have to say.


	8. The Desolation of Quirrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final straw that broke the camels back. Quirrel must fight the shapeless monster lest he loses no only his mate, but his mind as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know right now this chapters a bit ruff around the edges, especially the ending, but I plan to come back later and clean it up. I was just to excited to finally get another chapter out to wait.

There he was again, in the empty city. He walked slowly down the various corridors and alleyways he had now memorized twice over in two, maybe three, different lives. On his walk he’d stopped by an old shop, his mind had picked it out amongst the buildings though he wasn’t sure why.

Debris filled most of the old tavern creating piles of rubble everywhere, covering up any other sort of furnishing save for a single table in the outer corner by the large broken windows opening up to the street. It had an old outside sign decaying and hanging by one rusty chain. Somehow he’d made his way over to the table without realising it. It was iron and so rusted you could barely make out its original color. There were two seats on opposite ends in more of the same condition as the table. There was a strange air around the table like it wanted to tell him something important.

It was a bustle with bugs, chatting and grabbing a cup of something he couldn’t quite make out. He had been sitting by a short table on the outskirts. It was more of a cafe as it turns out. The inside was decorated in a beautiful white paint embroidered with a soft red and blue finish. The sun never showed its face down here, not that it could, yet the small cafe seemed to glow. The whole atmosphere felt warm here, and there was nary a sulking person insight. Across from him sat another bug. He almost looked like Nick but he had an extra horn off to his left side and generally softer features. The bug was laughing at something, he felt a large grin on himself, it must have been because of him.

He sat on the rusty chair just on the edge of the cafe. It creaked and ached under the new weight, of which it hadn’t felt in over 20 years. He leaned back, straightening his legs out under the table producing a satisfying _crack*_. The rain was a low hum in the background as it hit the eroded roof, he’d been here so long he’d gotten used to it, he barely noticed it. It was hard to focus on anything really, the moment he let his mind wander from work it would either reminisce or try to kill itself.

He leaned forward, now he barely heard the rushing crowd, the heavy steps of wagons and bugs. Even the rain quieted down for a minute as the bug in front of him had changed his face into a soft smile, his head slightly bent to the left as they laid it on his hands. He seemed to stare warmly at Quirrel before he brought one of his hands down onto the table, offering it to Quirrel. He reached out with his own hand and felt the cold rusted iron of the table.

It was especially dreary out today. It almost felt like it was raining harder than usual as it thundered above. The cafe was empty, it always had been, devoid of all bodies both moving and stiff save for himself. He looked at his empty hand, grasping at nothing. He couldn’t even remember the bug's name. He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to lose such a nice memory. They were so far and few between these days.

It wasn’t fair to him that he’d lost it, it wasn’t fair to the other bug that he’d forgotten him as well. Had they been friends, lovers, or perhaps even more, he’d never know. When he left Hollownest all those years ago had he known he’d be leaving the bug behind, did he know he’d lose everything? Had Monomon lied to him and told him he’d return with his memories? He would never know, it seemed most things down here were working against him.

_You could leave again._

There was an idea. Physically there was nothing holding him back. No past enemies, except maybe some Persians and a few peeved communists as they called themselves these days. Forget everything a second time, go back to the Janissaries, or perhaps go even farther west this time. Go to England, maybe become a privateer for the royal navy and sail the Caribbean, get as far away from this place as he could.

But he knew he couldn’t, not while Hornet was still here. As long as she was here in some capacity he was trapped. He should be relieved that she made it through, really he should, but the uncertainty of it all was driving him mad. They couldn’t just be both alive and happy or dead and alone, he had to land square in the middle. It was more akin to being slowly suffocated and he was aware of every passing second of the life slowly exiting his body.

Maybe the universe wanted him all to themselves, it seemed like a waste of resources to him. It could be out feeding the hungry and helping the poor but it’d rather just make sure he was the most miserable bug on earth. He really hated thinking about that, because in actuality there were only two possible outcomes. Either he just happens to be the unluckiest bug to ever come into existence and now has to spend his one and only chance at life slowly eroding away in a hole in the ground, or there is a higher being on another plane whose sole purpose is to crush his will at every corner.

He sat there on the stool for some time as he was in no real rush to go anywhere. The rain still poured down from above, rotting the city away little by little, till soon it would be nothing but dust. It was then that he realised just how alone he really was now.

It's why he didn’t let his mind wander these days, too risky. Too prone to existential dread and terror as well as just normal distraught. He got up off the chair, it gave one last _uuurch_ as he stood up as if thankful for things to have returned to normal. He walked out of the cafe through one of the many broken windows. He stopped a minute outside the small establishment, not daring to turn around. He could swear he heard soft, sweet laughter behind him.

He continued forward. Never once looking back.

* * *

It must have been really funny for them, whoever watched over the living, they must have had a real hoot over this one. Especially after that whole chat with himself earlier. Ooh the sweet, sweet irony. Oh the laughter that must have broken out when they saw Quirrel, outside his house, his door open and a long thin line of black mixed with red ooze blotched it’s way out and into the street. Oh the tears of ecstasy that must have fallen from their faces as he stepped in and saw the pool of blood slowly ebbing it’s way out of the guest bedroom down the hallway.

He hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since he’d walked in yet he felt very dizzy and sick, it was a terrible feeling of dread. He only had one thing left to lose in this world. He pressed forward and entered the guest bedroom.

There was a surprising sense of relief when he entered the room and not seeing Hornet there. The blood was coming from a doctor he’d hired just across the room. He was supposed to come in and check on her during the day while he was out scavenging for money to pay him with.

The doctor was cut clean in half, or well not really clean but Quirrel could be quite certain that one half of him was slouched against the wall while the other part was lying a few meters away from him. His eyes were wide open, staring up blank, he had died in terror. Not so different from the corpse he’d come across the first day Hornet showed up.

Of course that sense of relief was short lived as he began to piece together what had happened. Quirrel was a very intelligent bug and the logical side of his brain knew perfectly well what had happened but it was being blocked at the moment. Quirrel stepped back out of the room and into the main dining room before turning back around and re-entering the guest room as if the blood would magically disappear. A better yet maybe he had just gone crazy and pretty soon he’d walk back in and see Hornet sleeping there, peacefully. To no one's surprise the bug was never pieced back together and instead Quirrel was left with nothing.

_It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault…_

He repeated over and over in his head. Of course she would be taken, it had already gotten 80% of the people he knew. Instead he had sulked, drowning in his own misery rather than taking precautionary measures to protect her. He had finally hit rock bottom, and he’d hit it head first.

He slouched back against the wall of the hallway and slowly slid down till he sat on the floor and hit rock bottom, his arms hanging loosely on his knee caps. He sat there for some time, seemingly in no real hurry as he tried to process everything.

That didn’t seem to be working. The universe was against him, God was against him, whoever's omnipotent power was used solely to destroy his will. They couldn’t just kill his love, no, they had to take her away from him completely. Just so he could maybe find her again, probably dead, later. So they could watch him crawl just a few more meters on his belly before allowing him peace.

He thought on that for a second and felt a new emotion well up inside him, one he hadn’t felt in a while, anger. He stood up and walked into his own room, ignoring the pool of blood that reached his door. He went over to his bed and reached underneath it. He pulled out two different cases.

They were both made of layered fabrics with two flip locks on the front. He opened up the first one which revealed a red tunic, its front opening with a gold silk trimming along with length and 3 silver buttons going up. Inside the cloak was a red fez with a black string coming out of the top. It wasn’t standard issue but he always liked the look, he’d only ever picked it up after some bug in a suit told him they were cool.

That same bug also told him he controlled time and ran around with a funny looking “screwdriver”. Just some mad doctor, their words meant little but he had to admit the fez was cool.

In the other case, which was much longer than the other case, he pulled out a beautiful flintlock rifle. It was white and embroidered with all sorts of designs waving and running up the barrel and butt of the gun. A long leather strap ran the length of the gun which he used to sling the weapon over his back. Next to it were two glass orbs filled with a fine black powder and a piece of string hanging out of each. He placed them under his cloak, just below his two holstered pistols. before grabbing the old lantern hung from the ceiling. He was almost ready to go, he just needed one more thing.

Mounted just above his bed was a long nail. Though a little dusty one could tell the blade was well maintained through its apparent age. It looked rather simple but its craft was clearly sublime. It was Monomon’s blade at one point, passed down to him before he left 20 odd years ago. His brain stopped a moment for this as if it had meant to dive deeper into some old memories, a sort of fog clouded his mind.

The blurry outline of a creature, no a bug, with many floating tendrils around it glowed in front of him. It laid one of its soft tendrils on the mask secured to his head, a small gesture, like a mother's touch. Just as the memory had washed over him it faded away again. He shook his head rapidly as if the remaining memories would be flung asunder. This was not the time to dwell on old spirits. He had a job to do.

Either Hornet was, somehow, still alive and he rescued her. Or she was dead, but then he wasn’t planning on sticking around too long after that. Nothing lost, nothing gained.

He walked out of the empty house, whose door was still ajar and looked out to the trail of blood leading from the house. He moved forward, filled with new vigor. It had been a long time since he was motivated to do much of anything but now he was a bug with nothing to lose.

______________________________________________________________________

It was dark, an all encompassing dark save for a few flickering lights. Though to be fair it was always dark this far down. When you hear abyss you don’t exactly think of sunshine, which was weird considering that's what he saw all around him. He was standing in a huge building that heavily resembled a cathedral but pure white. The room was unusually bright, even without the white the room seemed to glow like the evening sun.

In front of him were lines of white knights on either side of him, all bowing forward, leading to the front of the cathedral which was slightly higher than the rest of the floor. On it was a great throne and on that was the Pale King, in all his glory.

The king looked down on him, a huge smile on his face. A proud smile of sorts, he had never seen the king so happy. He hopped down from the throne and approached him.

“Oh my knight! I am so proud of you and your many, many accomplishments.” Said the king.

He felt like he might start crying, those were the exact words he had always wanted to hear since he was created.

The whole air seemed fuzzy and it made it hard to see, he hadn’t even noticed the white lady next to the king who was admiring him just a few meters away.

“Truly you are one of the greatest, nay, the greatest knight to ever grace this planet.” She said, giving a bow. The king nodded in agreement. He opened his arms out. “Come here and let me embrace you. You know, I always thought of you as my son.” He said.

Ghost was there too. _Truly you are the greatest and I am but a shadow of your skill and have no friends._ Ghost said, a little off to the side.

It was perfect. Too perfect to say the least as Ghost suddenly turned to him and yelled in his face.

_Oi!_ Ghost said, though he sounded weirdly far away. Suddenly the whole room began to vibrate. Like a great earthquake. Before he could even begin to process what was going on Ghost was suddenly right in his face, as if he materialised there out of nowhere.

_OI CUNT!_ Ghost yelled.

His eyes flared open to Ghost's face hanging over him. Hollow was laying down on a rock, his back ached from the rest.

_Come on I was avin’ the most wondeful’ dream, wel’, almost wondeful. Till you went en showed up._ Hollow said, but soon quieted as he looked just past Ghost.

6 orange eyes stared up, slowly blinking as the great lord of shade slowly rose out of the black void. Contrary to what Ghost usually told bugs the god was actually quite slow, it was hard to move around when you stood twenty stories tall and had a body that consisted of nothing but void.

_Told you he’d come._ Said Ghost, a hint of smugness on his tongue earning him a hard glare from his brother.

Ghost walked forward to the edge of the pool. He waved his arms up to get the attention of the Shade Lord, but the god seemed to be unaware of the two. Rather looking up at the ceiling which was veiled in darkness.

It wasn’t until he heard a faint yelling coming from below that he turned down at the duo.

_Oi, oi you! Crikey lad been callin’ you al’ fukin’ day! Or days’, doesn’t matter._ Ghost said, as the lord splashed down to be at eye level, or as close to eye level as he could manage, with Ghost.

_Right en’, i’wl cut a bullshit and get on it then, I need yah elp. Me sis... She’s…_ Ghost paused for a second, both in a mournful remembrance and rush to get to the point, gods weren’t known for their patients.

_She got done in, bad, an’ I cant’ fix er’. No one can sept’ you. I need is’. An dont’ forget, you owe me…_ Ghost sort of trailed off. He had killed gods before, it was important to end with authority.

Hollow was rather surprised with just how short it was. Ghost had been deliberating on what to say to the god for who knows how long. Maybe that’s all he needed. The god blankly stared at Ghost. Being so big everything he did was slowed down, including his cognitive abilities. Until finally a raspy voice echoed in their head.

_I know, I know little one. I have seen this…_ Ghost seemed to perk up a bit at this as the Shade Lord took a pause. _I see many things as you know. I see thousands of deaths, each day. It saddens me greatly…_

Ghost gave a quizzical look back at Hollow before turning back to the Shade Lord, the old god was getting off topic already.

_Look, look mate. I don’ need your philosephy’ on a’ dead I need yah’ to heal my sista’._ Ghost interrupted. The Shade Lord took another long pause, looking down at the small knight. Hollow would have felt a bit worried for the knight had he not picked up on a soft thumping sound, like something falling, high above him. _Strange,_ he thought, _that don’t sound like no rock._

Meanwhile the Shade Lord managed a response. _I cannot heal your sister back to full. The void does not seal all, nor cure all. It is a poison. Only someone who is truly lifeless could take in such a foul substance. No, your sister is full of life yet. Nay my little knight, I have come for someone else._.. He said, quite clearly and quickly. Which came as a surprise to Ghost as the old lord almost always talked in a long winded and meandering sort of way. You often felt like you were having two different conversations. It was almost like he was trying to say his piece quickly before something abrupt happ…

Now he heard it too, that subtle thud getting louder and louder. Ghost starred up into the dark ceiling. As he did something splattered down, just a few droplets, some of which hit Ghost’s mask. Ghost reached up and wiped some off and looked at his hand.

It was stained in a dark red liquid.

_Blood._

* * *

Quirrel had been following the path for some time now. The steady stream of black blood had slowly dwindled as he went along, making it harder and harder to follow the track by the dim light of his lantern. This concerned him little, he was nearing its nest, he could feel it. The maze of mismatched paths had consolidated into a singular dark tunnel which etched forward.

The pathway led downwards, deep into the earth. The air was damp here, however, this wasn’t just the work of an old cave. He had grown accustomed to this atmosphere over the months. He was close to the City of Tears, it was unmistakable. A cold breeze blew moist air forward at an ever hastening pace as he continued onward. Soon the small glow of light trailed at the end of the tunnel. As he approached the light in the cave he noted that the light seemed to refract all around him. The light was bouncing off rows of abandoned glass containers. Large glass bulbs with an opening at the top. They varied in sizes from bulbs as small as his lantern to those large enough to house the Mantis Lords. And though most were covered in a short layer of dust and dirt they seemed remarkably sturdy, Quirrel couldn’t make out a single scratch on their surface.

He reached the cave exit and entered a large room through a hole in the wall. As he entered he blew out his lantern before taking in his surroundings. The room was filled to the brim with large glass containers with one rather large caveat. They all contained bugs. He recognised them from all over Hollownest, some coming as far as the Abyss. It was a sick version of someone's collection.

The farther he went along the more recent the catch, he speculated as much. For one the bugs went from rotting corpses to barely alive. Most seemed to ignore him all the same. He recognised a few bugs found around the City of Tears. One such sole, a rather small, skinny mantis that lay on his back, saw Quirrel as he approached and banged weakly on the glass. Using what energy he had left to get the scholar's attention. Unfortunately Quirrel didn’t have time for such matters, he was laser focused on his objective, and if the room itself wasn’t so ominously quiet he wouldn’t have even noticed.

Quirrel was a lot of things but he wasn’t an idiot. He had followed the creature here and he was damn sure it had stayed, it was just lying in wait. He hadn’t come here for a sneak attack, he was well aware he lacked home field advantage, what he needed was an open space. Just enough so he could direct the flow of battle. He didn’t know the type, shape, or even gender of his adversary, all he knew was the creature was not too keen on firearms.

He was gradually making his way to the center of the room, which had a large opening in the center. The only light came from small glowing luminous flies in small bulbs that ran across the ceiling, though, they didn’t do a great job. The room was draped in shadows, the light making them flicker as the luminous flies fluttered in their cages.

Eventually he reached the clearing in the middle of the room. It was surprisingly spacious here. The clearing was round, surrounded by glass bulbs. In the cave entrance there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the layout of the bugs, those in the back must have been thrown away. From the center of the room the bulbs spread out in quadrants, each encompassing a piece of Hollownest. He saw awoken mushrooms from the Fungal Wastes, grubs from the Resting Grounds and the Forgotten Crossroads. Next to them were miners from the Crystal Peak, which should mean next to them… Dirtmouth.

Sure enough in the left hand corner was a small collection of bulbs. He couldn’t quite make out who was who in the fluttering light, not that he made much of an attempt as in the very front row, as if not quite put away correctly, was a figure laid out, unmoving. Its head was slightly tilted on its side, and he could make out two distinct horns jutting upwards.

He bolted over to the glass jar, all other priorities forgotten, and nearly slammed himself against it. It produced a loud _Thunk*_ , the sound jostled the bugs around him. He searched over Hornet for any signs of life. He had put his lantern out when he had entered the room so all he had to go off were the swirling lights above. Through it he could make out the steady rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing.

He let out a soft _sigh_ of relief and a spark of hope shot through him, it was dim but it was a spark nonetheless. His mind now firmly on the glass container, he had only one obstacle left between him and Hornet. Eyeballing the glass it didn’t appear to be much thicker then the windows found around the city.

_Easy enough_ he thought as he put his hand on the hilt at his waist, pulling it ever so slightly. He swept his leg behind in and bent forward, shoulder out front as his body curved to the hilt of his nail. He swung forward, the nail a blur in the air before making contact with the bulb.

The nail cracked against it and reverberated in his hand as it bounced backwards. Quirrel checked over the damage he’d caused with was null. The bulb was just as smooth and glossy as it had been when he got there.

Not dissuaded in the slightest he began to rawk his brain for a new plan. There was the obvious solution, the two grenades he had stuffed in his pocket would surely make quick work of the glass frame but then that could endanger the occupants within the bulb. No he’d need...

_Thump thump thump*_

A defended thud broke his train of thought. Turning just a few meters to the left of Hornet’s glass prison was another of the same nature though this one contained the unmistakable outline of Tiso, who was pounding the glass with his fist. As soon as he turned Tiso gestured at him, pointing at him. Quirrel was a bit confused to say the least, was he trying to point…

Unless…

He meant behind him.

He whipped around just in time to see a large black claw bearing down on him. Without thinking he ducked out of the way, throwing himself forward past the attacker's dark outline and ducking into a roll. He pushed his leg down forcing himself back into his standing position just a few meters away from the beast. His nail stuck outwards waiting for the inevitable battle.

The creature turned around slowly to meet Quirrel’s eyes. It was larger than him, not towering over but a sizable way up. Its whole body was black, though it all seemed solid. Their body was relatively skinny along with his arms and legs which only seemed to complement the long sharp claws that extended out of his “fingers” if you could call them that. His head was shaped like an upside down potato bag but if it was smoothed out. The only other discernible feature was two white eyes that pierced the very air. These didn’t faze Quirrel, what did put him on edge was the soft laugh that seemed to echo from the creature's non-existent mouth, it sounded almost like a bugs voice.

The creature waited there, claws outstretched to both sides, unmoving. Both parties stood still for a moment, weapons drawn out, waiting for the other to make a move. Staring into each other's eyes, trying to decipher their next move.

Quirrel was the first to move. He quickly realised the distance he was at and knew he’d get few other opportunities, so quick as any bug he reached into his left pocket and pulled out the black Prussian pistol. His advisory seemed to have been expecting this and darted to the side before the firearm was even properly unholstered. Running behind a column of glass bulbs he darted from one to the other, making his way towards Quirrel’s position.

He laid the barrel forward, following the monster’s movement closely. Finally the creature had made it about ¾ of the way around before deciding it was close enough to strike. From behind the bulbs from Greenpass he leaped forward, claws outstretched, ready to tear into the small bug.

Quirrel had anticipated this, in fact he could hardly believe his luck that the creature would go on the offensive with his short range firearm. The gun let out a loud _Crack*_ as both hot smoke and lead shot forward from its barrel. The bang echoed around the arena, stirring any other creatures that might have otherwise been asleep.

He couldn’t see the blackened creature through the smoke but the loud scream confirmed he’d hit his mark. He made a steady leap backwards, putting as much space between him and the monster as possible. When the smoke cleared the collector was gone. _Collector,_ Quirrel thought, _a fitting name._

A small dark splatter was on the floor. Remnants of the wound Quirrel had given it. Though the Collector was nowhere to be seen. Quirrel readjusted himself and moved to the middle of the room. Slowly rotating on his axis, watching his blind spots. The creature was quiet but even one of his size couldn’t move without some noise. If only the clatter around him would shut up.

The bugs stuck inside the bulbs surrounding him were now fully awake, some watched in silence but most decided they’d clatter on their glass to try and pry his attention, as if he’d have time mid battle to release them. It proved to be most effective in hiding the Collectors movements. Quirrel was, essentially, blind.

Finally, he spotted two white eyes to his far left. He couldn’t see the body but he had a general idea of what would come next. He pretended not to notice, one hand holstered on his hilt, the other on his other second pistol in his waistcoat. The Collector leaped forward, claws outstretched.

Quirrel pulled his hand out of his coat, pistol in hand and pulled the trigger. He had hoped the speed of the action would be faster than the creature could react. The creature skidded sideways, the bullet traveling just below its armpit, before coming down on Quirrel in full force. Of course Quirrel had his nail at the ready and parried the creature's initial attack.

The creature had managed to get exactly where it needed to be. Though it’s heavy strike downwards had been parried he couldn’t block two strikes at once as his other arm swung upwards narrowly missing Quirrel by a few centimeters.

Quirrel’s one and only advantage was broken as the Collector let loose a volley of attacks on the scholar. The creature swung forward unmercilessly at him, leaving little room to counter.

All Quirrel could do was desperately counter each blow and back up. If he couldn’t attack he couldn’t win. Based on assumptions he could guess this creature didn’t need to rest or wait to recover their stamina, their goal was to wear him down till he could not fight anymore. It didn’t even flinch as black blood sprayed out of its wound and spattered onto the ground after each strike. It was made for this.

He could feel a hundred eyes on him, watching his desperate battle with the beast. The feeling only seemed to disrupt his already overloaded focus as he racked his brain for ideas. His body focused on deflecting one strike after another, his strength slowly ebbing away. But his brain was frantic, all the time he’d spent learning to calm himself in the midst of battle did little against a foe of this volition. All his brain could conjure was the image of two glass balls dangling in his coat. If he could just light one…

_Wait a second._ He thought.

In a last ditch effort he raised his nail upwards to block another blow as his other hand reached into his jacket, pulling out a dark, glass bulb. His focus was entirely on the fragile glass ball in his pocket. That was all the creature needed to bypass his defense as it struck forward with its other claw. Slicing into Quirrel’s right arm, making him release his nail. It flew a few meters in the air before landing with a loud _clunk!_

He wasn’t focused on that, through sheer adrenaline he managed to ignore the splitting pain in his arm and pulled out the bulb. In one swift movement he threw it into the creature’s face.

It smashed into the creature’s face. Glass shattering in all directions, some of which managed to lodge into its face. A spew of gunpowder burst out loitering the ground and the monster in black grain. The creature stopped its barrage, staggering backwards as it grabbed its face in pain. The Collector was thrown off guard and reeling in shock. Quirrel jumped backwards, once more making as much distance from him and the monster as possible.

He hadn’t realised just how little stamina he had left. Between the journey here and the endless barrage he was already breathing heavily, trying to push as much air into his lungs as possible. He would be able to survive another barrage of attacks like that. This was it, do or die.

He took the other glass ball out of his coat and struck the match on his coat. Luck was on his side as even in the damp room the match burst into flame. He put the match to the small wick coming out of the ball and watched the fire spark to life as it slowly slid down the short piece of string, emitting a low hissing as it went. In one swift motion he tossed the ball forward at the Collector.

It lobbed through the air as the Collector reconfigured itself just in time to see an oddly shaped bulb with a red flicker ebb towards it. It’s fight or flight reflexes kicked in, not really understanding what the ball was the creature tried to dash backwards, but nothing could have prepared it for the sort of area of effect that comes with a bomb.

Even Quirrel wasn’t fully ready for the mighty blast, it seemed to shake the very foundation of the building. The building shook and groaned as pressure was placed on them, one which it hadn’t felt in since its formation. Obviously he was in a much higher building then he had anticipated, but this was surprisingly the least of his problems.

Even at his distance shrapnel flew in all directions. He threw his arms up in that same moment in the hopes of protecting his face. Hot shards of glass that managed to release unmelted shimmered in the pale light before embedding themselves into his other arm and waist. Substantially less damage then he had expected, that is at least in terms of shrapnel.

The flash and inevitable fallout of the explosion was swift, as it did his body seemed to move on its own.

COMPOSURE [Heroic: Success] - Though you’ve probably sustained minimal, or perhaps copious amounts of brain trauma you manage to wield your body forward into action.

VOLITION [Medium: Success] - barely...

His subconscious had already worked out his next move, even with the damages taken. Quirrel pulled the rifle that had been slung over his back under his arm and into his hand. He put the butt to his shoulder and pulled the hammer back. He centered his sights on the pillar of dark, black smoke that was billowing from the center of the room, where the Collector had previously been. For a few seconds, he stood there, steady and firm. Then reality started to ebb its way back into his mind. Starting with that intrepid ringing.

If he hadn’t been expecting the blast he’d have keeled over in pain as the thunderous _clap*_ of the explosion burst in his ears. It was like a loud shrieking in his head, as if his ears were yelling directly into his head in pain. It made him feel dizzy and nauseous, he began to sway in his stance, steadying his foot every few seconds to realign his center of gravity. He felt the soft dribble of blood running from his ears down the sides of his head.

Slowly the seconds ticked by a heavy weight spread itself through his arm like it was getting weaker. As the excitement of the explosion and concurrent battle ebbed off the synopsis of his body returned to normal. Sharp pain split through his arm, instinctively he looked over to see what the issue was. A huge gash ran the length of his right arm. It was still firmly placed at his side as to put his hand on the trigger, blood dripping from his elbow down to an ever growing pool at his feet.

The world was getting fussy around him, coming in and out of focus as he stood there. His firearm still pointed forward at where the creature had been. He didn’t want to move, if he did that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself up. This was all he could manage for now. His arm was weighing down heavily now, crying out to be put to rest. He needed a distraction, something to refocus on.

He took a quick glance to his left, to where the Dirtmouth inhabitants were, in the hopes of getting a glance at Hornet. A reinvigoration to his cause so that he might finish his mission before succumbing to blood loss or head trauma. What was only supposed to be a quick look turned into a stare. Two tired black slits stared back at him from inside the glass bulb. He could barely see them through the smoke and his own haze, but he could feel them.

His mind had long since run capacity and this new piece of information fried it completely. His mind blank, null void. The ringing had seemed to dull down and his head refocused. On this he was able to come up with one thought through the muck, she wasn’t looking at him anymore but just to his side, her face had the unmistakable shape of fear.

One synopsis sparked after another as his brain computed what was happening. He turned his head forward to a dark shape in mid swing. The Collector had survived the ordeal, to what extent Quirrel couldn’t tell. That was all the time he was given as a huge claw slashed upwards through his waist to his right shoulder. He saw his own blood fly outwards from the exit. A huge weight fell over the scholar as he felt gravity take hold and throw him to the ground. He wasn’t sure if he’d fired off the musket, but he couldn’t feel it anymore.

In fact, he couldn’t feel much of anything anymore, all that was left was the agonising pain in his chest that threatened to envelope him. He couldn’t move, his body refused to respond. He wanted to get up and keep fighting, he wanted to curl up in a ball and press his wound shut, he wanted to go over and hug her. His vision began to blur as darkness etched its way into the corners of his eyes. Slowly encapsulating him in darkness.

It couldn’t end like this, not now. He’d come too far to die without saving anyone. If he died here then what was the point of it all? All the time he’d spent healing and treating others, all the time he’d spent with Hornet, all the time he’d spent researching, all the bugs he’d killed, all dead for nothing. All the places he’d seen, all the bugs he’d met, all the suffering he’d endured. All for nothing.

He was covered in darkness now, there was nothing left to see. His hearing was shot, leaving him in an empty void. He could still feel though, save for the immense pain in his chest, which was slowly ebbing away he felt. Wet, soaked in a puddle of his own blood. That is until he vaguely felt something grab his legs and drag him across the floor. It was hard to keep conscience at this point. He could feel a heavy fog coming over his mind, like the oncoming wave of sleep.

His last thoughts passed by as he fell backward, down into the endless abyss.

_It’s just not fair..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes yes, it's time once again for me to tell you how I'm sorry for taking so long, as is per tradition. Though to be completely frank I fell into a large spell of depression lately, I could barely muster the energy to write even a few lines, and booze only worsened the situation but as you can see I did manage to pull out of it and finish the chapter. I have one or two more planned out, don't know when they'll be done but just now I will do it eventually.
> 
> Also, if you couldn't tell. While depressed and with little to do other than waste away at work I played Disco Elysium, which has forever changed my outlook on storytelling and video games as a genre. I highly suggest giving it a go. Also, I started watching Doctor Who and have been binging it to no end. These two things managed to drag me out of my spout and onto the next morning.
> 
> Something, something Tequila Sunset Allons-y.


	9. Lost in the Fog of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quirrel finds himself in a slow descent into the unknown following memories that aren't his own. They say when you hit rock bottom there is no way to go but up, that is unless there is a secret underground cave made to produce soul-less creatures in which case you could end up falling just a bit more...

Darkness, like he’d dreamed of so many nights before engulfed him. Like a long awaited rest, his body refused to respond. Hanging limply as he fell deeper and deeper. It wasn’t a bad feeling, he felt no pain or agony, just relief and a sweeping drowsiness that seemed ready to consume him.

Everything felt foggy, he felt no rush of wind nor unconscious ground beneath him just the steady fall. He could hardly remember how he’d gotten here or who he even was. Perhaps he was nothing all together, yet all the same it felt right, it felt well deserved. Whatever he did must have been grand, whatever it was.

He had nothing more to do but sleep.

Sleep and rest forever.

…

…

No, no something was wrong. He felt the pull of the void so greatly yet he sat in a sort of limbo. His mind tried to formulate some sort of reasoning for this without his conjecture. He didn’t want to think, to feel, he simply wanted rest. He forced his head to concentrate and he heard it. The soft but unmistakable hum of noise. He couldn’t make out quite what it was.

Any ideas of a peaceful slumber seemed to dissipate from his mind as craned to hear the sound. It was steadily growing louder, which did less to reassure him, who knows what sort of horrors could be lurking in the space between the abyss and life.

_ Life?.... _

The thought was thrown away as the sound grew ever clearer. It boomed and echoed around him. He felt trapped, a far cry from the endless abyss he had once assumed he was in. It thundered around, filling every receptor with the same message.

_ Quirrel…. _

_ QUIRREL! _

His eyes shot open. A cloud covered sky arose before him, dark and murky, unnatural. The world shuddered and shook underneath him.

“Quirrel!” Came a yell form to his left.

Lifting himself up onto his elbow and peering behind him. Before him was a bug, crouched behind a large pillar of dirt, not much taller than him wearing all tan and adored on his head was an officer's cap.

“Dammit man get up! I need you on that gun!” He yelled, gesturing toward him, revolver in hand.

He slowly moved his way up and over to the large implanted gun. Shells whistled down and exploded throwing ground and soot everywhere. It all sounded so muffled, so far away.

He worked on autopilot. He knew this gun inside and out, always had.  _ Had I? _

If only everyone would stop screaming and yelling. It was nauseating. So hard to think, to focus.

He was half aware that the gun was working again, he wasn’t quite sure if he had fixed it or when. That mattered little to him, the rhythmic jerking of the gun was satisfying, relaxing.

The world was so chaotic, so full of uncertainty. The bombs, the bodies, the yells. No order, no civilization. That’s what the machine gun brought, order.

_ Ratatatatatatatatat... _

Round after round ejected out of the gun. The bodies falling in place in front of him in the order he chose, each scream timed with the clack of his gun. It was like music to his ears.

That is until something disturbed the peace. A whistling from above, directly above him. He only had a moment to look up.  _ Divine intervention? The fall of bugkind… _

The shell slammed into the ground and detonated.

Quirrel was thrown backward, his head slammed into the ship's wall. Splinters exploded in every direction though you couldn’t see the damage. The entire 3 decker ship was covered in a thick layer of smoke.

He reached out and pulled himself up but found gravity was a bit heavier than he had anticipated. His body felt like lead, he could barely raise his arms up. The smell was sickening, like rotten eggs overwhelmed him. Explosions echoed around him as the French and Spanish ships battered their walls. He was barely aware of the large wooden splinter jutting out of his stomach.

His head throbbed again, worse this time. Unseating him as he fell to the ground. It felt like the very life inside of him was seeping away.

_ England expects that every man will do his duty…  _ He had heard those words, he was sure of it. But when, how? Who was he? Where was he? His head was filled with all these memories that he was sure were his but at the same time they felt wrong.

His blood has soaked into his uniform, his red and white now stained in a dark bloody mark. He spluttered, blood seeping out of his mouth before even his eyes became too tired to stay open.

He tried to shut out the world, just keep his eyes shut and maybe he’d finish his fall. But he felt them, eyes glaring into his shell. Watching him, taunting him. Spirits perhaps? Amused by the suffering of a single mortal bug. A demon?

_ Quirrel, please... _

The air was calmer here. Under the light blue sky. The rolling hills stretched outwards, glowing with the afternoon sky. Yet he felt no ray of light on himself. He felt cold, like a ghost. His head pounded and throbbed with each hoofbeat.

_ Hoofbeat? _ He thought.

The clear sound of galloping hooves was ever approaching. A green and gold banner followed them, Seljuk cavalry.

He had to move, he had to get away but his body refused to respond. It sat stiff in place like a corpse. The first rider upfront lifted his shamshir to his side, readying a strike.

All he could here were the clattering of hooves, no strained breath nor heartbeat. In fact he couldn’t feel his heart beating at all.

_ Maybe I’m already dead… _ Quirrel thought before the saber slashed across his chest. He indeed felt this as he crashed down to earth narrowly avoiding being crushed by the rest of the cavalry.

He laid there for a moment, awaiting death. Grasping his chest but feeling nothing, his nerves were already dead.

It could have been seconds, minutes, months, years even he couldn’t keep track but death would not take him away.

_ You have to be okay... _

He opened his eyes once more and was rather surprised to find himself on the same rolling hill. Yet something was off, the hills were still lush green but the earth beneath him had turned black.

He looked down, following the slow trickle of black ooze to his own wound. A black tar like substance trickled out of him onto the ground. Panting his white robe and cross void of color.

This was too much for the bug, his head fell back onto an iron plate. The ground was no longer even but jagged and wobbly yet oddly soft. Looking around he was in a large open area surrounded by forest. Mounds of bodies piled in all directions. Legionaries lined the floor while others still desperately fought on against the barbarians.

Each hit brought a spout of that same black blood, it covered everything. Like a sea of oil. He felt sick to his stomach.

He felt sick.

_ I can’t lose anyone else... _

He gasped, air filling his lungs, as he pulled harder on the straps of his comrade. Bullets burst around him as he pulled the bug into the bombed out carcass of a building. Sitting the bug down against the closest wall he returned to fighting. He felt the rifle but at his shoulder and the punch it gave for every burst he released.

Iraqi militia lined the far buildings, shooting at anything that moved. He could just barely make out shapes moving around.

A soft groan sounded beside him. He almost fell backwards but caught himself at the last second. The bug was covered in black blood. Small specs of tan camo spotted the ever darkening uniform. The bug reached out a shaking claw to Quirrel, “help… me…” he whimpered.

Quirrel felt a panic rising out of him. It was getting hard to breath. He heaved in and out his lungs still felt empty. Once more he collapsed onto the ground. He tried to push himself up but his arms wouldn’t stop shaking. His heart was beating so loud now, he could hear the blood pulsating in his ear. He grabbed the sides of his head as if to try and pry out the pain.

It was like going mad. But, as soon as he felt he may have hit his limit, the feeling stopped. Everything seemed to stop, all noise and pain. He lifted his shaking claw to his chest and felt nothing. He sank back down to the ground and closed his eyes.

The world went black.   
  


That is until he felt solid ground on his back as well as a force pressing up against the back of his throat. Trying to move the contents of his stomach to the floor. It was overwhelming he had to…

He had to…

He gasped once more and pushed himself over. He was dimly aware of a shocked surprised cry beside him but he was preoccupied with other matters. Just a few meters away was a dock overcropping a huge black see. He dragged himself forward towards the dark waters.

His insides were on fire, crying for him to release whatever evil laid inside him. Finally, he dipped his head over the side and let out a belch of liquid. Pure black liquid poured out of him, much the same substance as the void below him.

Of course, this didn’t stop with one hurle but a near continuous stream came out only broken by his heaves of breath. He felt a small hand on his back. Quirrel barely had time to register the person before his head was back down facing the void.

It took him a few minutes before he had successfully removed all the gook from his system. He was covered near head to toe in the substance though it wasn’t as terrible a feeling as blood. It didn’t crust on and it wasn’t as thick. Even his tears protruded the same substance.

Every passing minute brought him closer to reality. The reality he found himself in, and the substance that had poured out of him. His body started to shake again, he’d snapped that’s what happened. He’d finally entered the nutty bin.  _ Frankly I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. _ He thought.

No, no he was far too aware, far too conscious for that. Maybe this was hell? The underworld? The exterior sure seemed like it. A dark bleak cave raised so high he couldn’t see the ceiling, and flowing beside it a black lake of void…

He was sitting up now, legs hanging loosely over the edge. A hand rubbed his back still. Coming to he turned to the bug and found Ghost’s form beside him.

_ You alrigh' 'here mate? _ Ghost asked in a soft voice.

He stared at Ghost for a minute, unsure of how to react. He felt a flurry of emotions fill him. Relief to see a friendly face, inquisitive as to his current state and Ghosts role in it, but the largest and most overwhelming emotion he felt was anger and hatred.

“What… Did you do to me?” Quirrel asked slowly, his voice shaking.

_ You… you fell from 'he ceilin. You were broken, like I’d never seen… you were gone faw a few momen's 'here… I 'hough' I’d… _ Ghost trailed off.

With every word that passed through Quirrel's head, he felt his anger fester and grow. He felt fit to burst once more but in anger. To take the buga and punt him as far as possible across the pond just to watch him splash and splutter till he drowned.

“You couldn’t just let me die, could you?” Quirrel said in a low voice.

_ I… Wha’? Wha’ are you… _

“You couldn’t just let me pass in peace.” Quirrel staggered to his feet, almost losing his footing as he stood up. “Always mucking about in others' business I was so close to peace…”

_ I couldn’', I couldn’' jus' le' you die… _

“I’ve lost everything!” He yelled. “And now, now I can’t even die right. They won’t give me the satisfaction… I just want to die and be done with this why… Why?”

He fell to his knees and felt the cold stream of tears begin down his face. He was broken, this was it. He very well thought he couldn’t be pushed any farther yet here he was. Unable to even die honorably in combat. He just wanted to sit there and waste away for a while, maybe ever.

Ghost walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  _ You still 'ave me… _

Quirrel felt that rage fill him once more, and only one outlet to let it out. He pushed the hand away and faced Ghost.

“Here’s an idea, go drown yourself in a lake, do us all some good for all the fucking help you do. Be a help an’ fuck off, and so help me god if I ever have to speak to you again” Quirrel said, a dark undertone in his voice.

Ghost stood there a second, staring at his friend; unmoving, unflinching.

In one swift move he lunged at Quirrel’s chest and embraced him in a tight hug. Tears cascading down the Ghosts face.

_ Please Quirrel I didn’' mean I… I… I didn’' knah I swear. I didn’' take 'he me'aphysical consequences ov my ac'ions in'o accoun'! I just… _ He seemed to squeeze a bit tighter.  _ I jus' didn’' wan' 'o lose ano'her friend. I would know… I couldn’'…  _ His words were mixed and sullen as he continued to cry into Quirrel’s chest.

In the blink of an eye he felt his anger dissipated, filling in its place was guilt. Quirrel placed his arms around Ghost and embraced him.

_ I’m sorry, I'm so sorry please don’' hate me your all I 'ave lef' now…  _ Ghost sobbed.

“No, no of course… Of course I don’t hate you I just… Lost myself there.” He said, turning his head away in shame. “Been doing that a lot lately.”

Ghost pulled back standing in front of him, eyes sullen with tears.  _ You mean i’? _

Quirrel smiled a bit, “of course I do.”

Quirrel felt his conscience clear up. He felt more alive now than he’d felt in a long time. “I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean what I said. I just, I think I forgot about the insect condition, forgot what it meant to be a person.”

He stared over his shoulder, on the ground there traced a long line of liquids. Starting off red a few meters on before abruptly turning black in a dark pool mixed with the two. A black streak finished off at the lake.

“You know, I have to ask. How did you bring me back?” Quirrel asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

_ Wel’... _ Ghost started shifting in place, seemingly weighing the odds of another outburst.  _ Once you fell ou' ov 'he ceilin we dragged you ou' 'here. You were… in bad shape 'o say 'he leas'. Barely alive. Lucky faw us 'he Shade Lord was 'here. 'e concoc'ed an idea righ' quick. Surprised since 'he cunt wouldn’' life a finger to 'elp anyone. Anyway I’m no' really sure how 'e did it bu' be said it was sor’ ov like 'he opposi'e ov how Hornet was made. _

“Wasn’t Hornet born, like with procreation?” Quirrel asked, it painted a rather unsavory picture of his rebirth.

_ Yes, well 'hat's comin from 'he void you 'ad ta be brough' into the void. Very differen' ye' it shared enough key charac'eristics ta save you I suppose. _

“I guess that makes sense, if you don’t think about it too hard.” Quirrel responded before a realization came over him. “Speaking of which, how long was I out?”

_ Few 'ours maybe, why? plannin on dyin again so soon? _ Ghost jested.

“Maybe so my friend. I have some unfinished business to attend to.” Quirrel said before standing up.

_ Wai', le' me come wi'h you. _ Ghost said.

“No! I mean no, I need to finish him alone. I owe it to everyone.” Quirrel said as he began off towards laid out items by the dock.

_ She’s importan’ to me 'oo, you know, she's my skin and blister. I 'ave to try. _ Ghost said, determination filled his voice. There would be no stopping him from pursuing.

“Fine, fine, but the Collector is mine, understand?” Quirrel conceded.

Ghost gave a swift nod of the head.

He collected his gear from the lake's edge. His clothing was covered in both dark and red blotches of blood. His pistol was heavily cracked and splattered but not unusable. The Prussian flintlock was nowhere to be seen. The holsters didn’t fare much better than the suit but they were still usable if only a bit less comfortable. Ghost always seemed to have a well polished sword on his back.

With their gear set, they exchanged a small nod before beginning the trek out of the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it lads! Finally, after months of being unable to put words to paper, I finally shat out a piece. It's ugly, hard to follow and mucky but it's mine dammit!
> 
> If anyone cares to hear I, once more, fell into a deep depression that I have yet to pull myself out of. But I have booze and I finished Cyberpunk which made me pretty happy. It's nice to be writing again. I'd say there's a solid 1 or 2 more chapters left I'll finish when I get around to it. After that, I have another thing I'm working on with Quirrel/Hornet story but broken into a shorter more digestible format instead of this ungodly 35,000-word ramble.
> 
> Anyway thank you so much for reading, and if you managed your way through leave a comment, I do love getting feedback.
> 
> P.S. I know I butchered the Cockney accent I had to make it just a bit more legible to be usable.


	10. Another Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes our end all is but a few knife cuts away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not great when it comes to fight scenes, and this chapter shows that off a little too well but hey, what can you do?
> 
> Also consistent tone? Never heard of im'
> 
> Edit: usually I don't give a rats arse about this but this story just surpassed 2000 hits

The wind whistled past his ear as he sprinted down the endless sprawling tunnels of Hollownest. Having been brought back from the clutches of death mear hours ago it was quite the accomplishment to be walking again let alone sprinting. In fact, he couldn’t quite remember feeling this full of energy before, not that he could remember a whole lot from the past.

He felt spry and surprisingly light. Falls did not cripple his legs nor did the cry of weariness as he sprinted past the mounds of rocks and long forgotten corpses that lined most areas of the kingdom. He was so swift Ghost had to hitch a ride on his back in order to keep up.

There was a small nick in the back of his head that wanted to elaborate on the shift in his body. How the void would affect him. How would it affect his age, his body, maybe even his soul? But he’d spent too much time on the ontological, now was the time to focus.

It didn’t really matter what he was anymore, he had been given another chance to succeed. He had been so foolish, so selfish, he had only wanted an escape before, death. Since death eluded his grasp he would try for the next best thing, revenge. The world seemed to way a lot less now. He was borderline excited to reach his destination. All the horrors and turmoil he’d gone through seemed so, nonsensical now.

That same glow he’d seen before appeared before him, a light at the end of a tunnel. He stopped a moment, his brain hesitated for a second, fearing if he entered the light he might not come back out again. He quickly dismissed the notion, though symbolic as it may be, he felt quite prepared for the fight ahead.

Just outside the cave entrance he stopped and let Ghost off. “Alright, the plans’ simple.” Quirrel whispered. “We go in, I make a bunch of noise and get his attention while you go around, free all the bugs, I kill the conniving bastard, we get everyone back home and finish off with a cup of whiskey, how's that?”

 _Alrigh', excep' fo’ one small caveat._ Ghost said.

“What’s that?”

_Don’' like whiskey, 'ah abou' over a gin an' tonic?_

“Over my dead body.” Quirrel whispered in a harsh tone but a series of rapid footsteps coming from inside the room interrupted them.

“Shit, alright move, move! We’ll discuss logistics later.”

He pulled forth his nail and entered the room; it was unsurprisingly still a mass of bulbs and scattered lights with the one difference being the splattered blood middle of the floor. Both red and black. _Maybe I hurt it more than I thought,_ Quirrel thought.

He made sure to keep watch over the shadows he paid little mind to the many stares he had attracted from those in the bulbs. _No… No!... Impossible…_ He felt the words echo through his head. They were soft and raspy but distinct, not Ghost’s voice.

He raised his nail forward, eyes passing slowly over the glass bulbs, watching for movement. “I know you're here, come out and finish this.” He yelled to the dark.

 _He lives…_ Said the voice.

“Ooh, good observation Copernicus. Astute as ever.” A few moments passed with nothing but silence. “Is that all you have to say?!” He yelled, admittedly Quirrel wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He was filled with a sort of confidence he hadn’t felt in quite some time, like his body would know what to do when the time came.

 _He… Mocks us…_ The voice sounded louder this time, brimming with anger.

Quirrel paused a moment before retorting. “Very good, you’re two for two now, one more right answer and you’ll win a prize.”

A loud hiss came back from the darkness, a loud hiss trying to mask a distinct shift heard just to his left, too big to be Ghost. He didn’t pear over, however, he stayed staring straight ahead. 

_Kill you… I’ll kill you!..._ The voice came louder and more distinct than ever.

He gave a slight chuckle before answering. “A damn shame that. Looks like there's no lucky winner today. That’s two for three, and to think, you were doing so well.”

Quirrel was expecting another hiss of resistance, instead he was met with an ear piercing shriek. It seemed to rattle not only the room but his mind as well. He nearly dropped his nail as his claws instinctively went to his head to drop out the sound.

The sound stopped abruptly and was followed by a quick succession of steps coming towards him. Even dazed from the screech he still knew where the Collector was coming from and reacted as such. Pulling his nail forward just in time to block two oncoming claws

A power struggle began between the two, each vying to overcome the other with sheer strength. Quirrel, under normal circumstances, would have been easily overwhelmed. The void that now coursed through his veins seemed to imbue him with strength.

Though, to be fair, the Collector looked far worse for wear since their last meeting. He could see large gashes and scratches all over the creature, it seemed to be breathing irregularly even as it hurtled towards battle. The glass bomb had done a number on the assailant.

He had the upper hand now.

He threw his weight forward and pushed the beast's claws sideways. The Collector, seeing an opportunity quickly pulled his left arm up and swiped at Quirrel. Quirrel had been expecting this and turned the momentum on his nail down and up to meet the Collectors claw. In one swift move he nearly chopped the claw from its arm, only narrowly missing.

The speed at which this counter attack was initiated caused the creature to recoil back a few meters. This was obviously not the same bug he had fought before. There was an air of power around him that he couldn't quite explain.

The creature's eyes darted quickly to the whole, bloody trail leading from the hole to the spot where Quirrel had fallen only hours ago. The moment passed and the creature hissed once more before leaping upwards into the air.

The creature was wounded, yes, but he was not immobile. It soared downwards towards Quirrel in the hopes of impaling the smaller bug, to plunge its dark claws through his soft outer shell.

Quirrel made no moves to evade the attack but instead watched the creature ark towards him. Just as the creature was about to make impact he darted forward. In the blink of an eye he passed under the oncoming claws and sliced his nail across the creature's stomach. This time he did make contact. Black blood spurted out following a line of death behind his nail.

The creature landed behind him and staggered, it's once outstretched claws now clasped to its side. The creature was quick to regain its composure, it didn’t seem quick to realize the situation they were in, instead they became frenzied. Running once more at Quirrel and unleashing a barrage of attacks as it had done the first time. The creature struck down on Quirrel only for him to swing his nail and parry.

This time Quirrel felt no loss of breath nor ache of ligaments. Each consecutive strike was blocked or thrown off with relative ease. The attacks became more and more sporadic with each passing second. Blood gushed out of the newly formed cut across the creature's chest with each hit.

The slashes and claws became fainter and fainter. Opportunity struck as an uppercut swing was easily deflected, pulling down he used the momentum of his block to swing the nail back upwards just between the creature's arm and chest. The limb soured a few meters into the air before falling back to earth with a meaty _smack*!_

Black blood poured out of the open wound, landing in globs on the ground. The Collector staggered backwards, staring down at where their arm once was. It fell backwards, barely staying sitting on their arm and legs. 

Quirrel, having stood in place watching the creature fall, approached it. As he did he pulled his pistol out of its holster. Inspecting the piece it had a few new spatters of black along its handle, courtesy of the creature.

He stood over the creature, placed the pistol to its forehead and pulled the hammer back.

 _He… He cheats…_ The voice rasped, barely audible. He pulled the trigger, the gun emitted a mighty _BANG_ from its barrel followed by a squelching sound and a round hitting the floor behind. The creature went limp and fell to the floor never to move again.

Quirrel stood in place for a few seconds, looking over the desecrated corpse of his advisory. It was barely recognizable as a creature at this point, missing chunks and limbs of flesh. Black blood covered the face, if you could call it that, it looked like he never had one to begin with.

Turning in place he saw Ghost staring at him, just beside the first line of jars.

_blimey mate, You ‘ad ‘hat done in a minu’e’s time. I didn’ even ‘ave enough time to bust a bottle. Felt almos’ a bi’, well, anticlimactic._

Quirrel looked over his shoulder, back to the corpse lying completely still. “Yes, well, life is full of surprises, isn’t it?”

_Suppose ‘hat’s something to say for it._

He held himself still there for a moment more before continuing. “There might be a lesson here. Maybe about the fickleness of life or that hope can be scrapped, burned, and maimed but never killed… Or something.”

 _No, that sounds pretentious, an’ stupid. You managed ‘o kill a serpen’ af’er you’d already maimed ‘im an’ af’er ‘e’d already killed you._ Ghost responded. _I’d guess it was mawe ov an omnipotent fawce ‘hat took favor in you ‘hen wha’ever shi’e you said._

Quirrel didn’t have a response to this. He felt, overwhelmingly, like he had overcome his greatest obstacle yet at the same time he did feel a little sour on it. Like he’d completed a very hard test by cheating.

Or maybe bigger than that. Like he’d cheated on life. The Collector might have been a savage creature that captured and starved bugs but he had lost fair and square to the creature. He had only made it back to fight again by sheer coincidence.

_Oi! You gotta’ elp’ me wit’ hese’ bo’’les or are you jus’ gonna stare at the bloody thing all day!_

The words echoed around his skull, pulling him back to the present. Ghost was, presently, trying to pry the rather large cork of Hornets bulb.

“Oh, yeah right.”

He had never forgotten about her, he had just set his expectations. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for and Hornet was barely alive last time he’d come. He didn’t want to set himself up for disaster later. He had planned more ways of killing himself than trying to save her again. Which was surprisingly trickier with newfound powers.

 _Speaking of new powers,_ he thought as he prepared a swing at the side of the glass. It hadn’t worked last time, sure, but then he was a different bug then.

With one fell swing, he burst the side of the bulb. Glass shattered everywhere, making a formidable breach in the side. It cracked and cleaved, leaving a spider's web of contortions in the glass.

He ignored Ghost’s surprised yelp and put his claw to her neck, feeling for a pulse. For a split second, there was nothing, his heart sunk to the depths of blackness for a moment as his mind filled with a cascade of emotional guilt and sorrow. Then, a heartbeat later, he felt it. A slow but ever present pulse of a heart.

She was still alive.

Being stuck inside a vacant bulb, though rather frightening, has its advantages. For instance, the various bacteria that are often found in wounds left to the maw of nature can do little to penetrate that vacuum. Hunger had done more damage than any sort of E. coli could do.

The caves wiped past him once more. He passed overgrown fences and benches, past old roads long since abandoned, past the old relics and statues of a lost kingdom, past the destitute and forgotten corpses. His eyes remained focused on the light, the ever growing glow of rays of sunlight ahead. And on the red garnished spider in his arms.

He burst forth out of the caves and into the dazzling light. It felt like ages since he had last seen the sun. The bright of midday glazed the town of Dirtmouth. He flew by the various houses and shops that had since popped up. Funny, he didn’t remember this place being so big.

Finally, he reached his own domicile. It was discolored and rather dreary compared to the more recent buildings in the area, but to him, it had never looked so nice. He opened the door with his foot, it creaked open as if the building itself was welcoming his return.

The living room was a mess. Discarded bottles littered the room and a small, but fairly noticeable, layer of dust had accumulated on the floor, greying most of the colors. He paid the scenery little mind, save for the sheets on her bad which were do for a good _wack*!_

He laid her down on the bed. Her eyes shut but her breathing was normal. He went through the procedures he usually followed, though quite more thoroughly this time. After which he sat down in the chair next to her bed.

The air was completely quiet. Silence plastered every inch of the room. And in this silence, he had time to reflect on the past few hours. It would seem he had entered his fourth life. He had been through the full spectrum of insect emotions, from love to sorrow. He had lost most everyone he ever knew in his life, his family was either lost or gone.

He had seen the best out of bugs, a crew dedicated to the well being of all in the middle of a warzone. He’d seen the folly of bugs as well, the lost and damned of war and plague. He’d even contributed to the suffering and delved into the darkest reaches of the soul. He had faced the ontological, his own existence questioned and snuffed within a few hours of each other. He was blessed and cursed.

But most importantly, for the first time in what felt like years, he was happy to be alive.

* * *

She felt the pain in her temple long before she felt anything else. It throbbed and informed her that she was alive. A good start to any day.

The rest of her body followed suit. The warm, silky blankets that covered her invoked two very different emotions. That of being in a foreign place and being right where she always was. _Strange._

The last of her body to wake was her eyes which opened slowly to a blurry canvas of blurry blobs. The world did concede, after a few seconds, to withdraw from the abstract and return to the world of form.

Yet if felt wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here. _Then where am I supposed to be?_ A voice in the back of her head questioned. Then the memories started up.

There was a field, well no, a block of corpses circling her. There was a crater, then a flash, maybe. Then a window, one in which she could lay in. A formless room, too blurry to make anything out in. No, no she just wasn’t focused on the rest, she was focused on him.

Quirrel, worn in a red, blood stained tunic and two arms out grasping a rifle pointed outwards. Their eyes met, she could see him. She could see them. Claws outstretched, she could see his body crumple to the floor, his rifle never sparking to life. She could see his body, near lifeless, dragged across the room and tossed out of sight.

Her blood went cold. A sudden wave of adrenaline rushed through her body as she sat up. Only to fall back down into bed once more, blood having failed to circulate properly through her body. He was dead.

The words hit her but instead of the regret and despair she thought would fill her, she came up with a rebuttal.

_Then how did I get here?_

She only then became aware of the bug next to her. Those feelings that threatened to wash over her dissipated instantly upon seeing Quirrel. Who sat, arms crossed and head sunken on his shoulder, asleep. His soft breathing the only sound to perforate through the silence.

 _Surely I must be… I must be dead…_ She thought.

“Quirrel…” She rasped out. The words were barely audible and flem forced its way up her throat. Clearing her throat she tried once more.

“Quirrel.” She said, louder than the first time but only seeming to stir Quirrel for a second before he fell once more into sleep. She gave another rumble of the throat, seemingly fully cleansing her throat.

“QUIRREL!” She yelled.

Quirrel startled awake, yes popping open before falling backwards on his chair, causing a loud _thud*_.

“Uhhhh, I swear if this keeps up my heart is gonna’ stop dead-” his ramble was cut short upon his resurface. Their eyes met on the side of the bed and for a moment time stood still.

Quirrel nearly barreled into Hornet, knocking her back into bed, and embracing her.

She returned the gesture and was only vaguely aware of the fact she could only give half a hug. But currently she didn’t care. Alive or dead they were here, together.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


The day was winding down once more. The sun showed its most brilliant colors, filling the sky with purple and orange. The parade of caravans had slowed and but a few stragglers followed up the King's Path. The pathway was lined with black metal lamps with a grey rock base, mixed in with some green undergrowth. This made the bright red outline of the bug atop the mountain stand out all the more.

She stood overlooking the far reaching desert. A cup of tea in hand and an expression of deep contemplation. She was only drawn out of this stupor by a not so unexpected visitor. He walked up behind her, embracing her and placing his head on her shoulder of which she leaned her own head into.

“I’ve noticed you come up here a lot lately.” He said, not in a worried nor questioning sense but more matter of factly.

“Hmm…” She responded.

“You never tell me why though…” He began moving himself to her side, one arm still holding her close. “You want to leave.”

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds and he didn’t press, content to simply watch the sun rest.

“I just…” She looked conflicted, the fight of ideas still raging within her. “I feel like I don’t belong here, in Hollownest anymore.”

There was another moment of pause. “I know, and no, it’s not about my arm. I feel it more on a seismic level.” She continued.

“Ghost seems to have a never ending supply of money and we have immediate access to some of the best care in Hollownest since you passed up your position to Nick… But…”

She shook her head slowly. “It just feels wrong.”

She turned to Quirrel. “You once told me that ‘we aren’t rebirthed in strife, we merrily adapt.’ I still believe it but adaptation can only take you so far. You can survive off the scraps of life and adapt yet be nothing but a shadow.”

She paused once more, trying to find the right words. “I, I think we are the shadow. An ever present reminder of a bygone era. Cursed remnants of a fallen kingdom, doomed to patrol her crumbling corpse. Forever cursed to be a shadow of their former self. For better or for worse.”

“I want to start anew, someplace different. Where our new lives won’t be plagued by the old.”

Quirrel gave a slow nod of understanding before speaking. “Well, it’d break Ghost's little heart. But he’s tough, I suppose, he can bear it. So…” He said closing the short distance between the two and closing his arms around her waist. “We’ve got the whole world at our leisure. Say just say the word and I’ll take you.” A bright smile marked his face.

“Simple as that?” She asked bemused, her face moving in closer to his.

“Simple as that.” He replied, returning the gesture until their lips met.

The sun dimmed beneath the far off hills, it’s last light sputtering out behind the mounds. Off to traverse the lands beyond the lost kingdom and her people.

And onto brighter shores.

Indeed, for all that dwelt there it was just another day.

Another day in the life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is, it's finally done, and what a mess it is. Though as I finish this piece I have been thinking a lot about what I do. I write stories because I enjoy doing it but frankly I'm a 21-year-old man in his last year of college. I always feel so childish getting attached to these characters and writing fanfics like I'm a 14 teenage school girl with no friends. I'm really not sure if it helps me or hurts me frankly but I'm stuck here now so, fuck it, I might as well embrace it.
> 
> Not publically though, of course, anonymity is all I have if anyone I know found out I did this sort of thing it'd be over for me, I would literally rather die.


End file.
